Later that evening Hamish and Olivia lay in their twin beds. There was still a distinct frost emanating from Olivia. She was reading a magazine.

"Olivia," ventured Hamish.

"What?"

"As we're not to be doing anything until tomorrow evening, we could spend the day looking around, visit some of the sights."

"We will stay here," said Olivia crossly. "Have you forgotten you're supposed to know Amsterdam? Not ponce about like some bloody tourist."

I hate her, thought Hamish. I really hate her.

The morning dawned sunny and crisp, sunlight sparkling on the canal below the window.

They had a silent breakfast. Hamish began to feel mutinous. He did not want to stay locked up in this hotel room.

He made for the door.

"Where are you going?" demanded Olivia sharply.

"Just downstairs to get the English papers," said Hamish mildly.

"Don't be long."

With a feeling of being let out of some sort of prison, Hamish went downstairs and straight out of the hotel. He was aware that the two Glaswegians, who had been sitting in the hotel lobby, had risen to follow him.

He walked slowly, looking always for a way to lose his pursuers. He went into a souvenir shop. His pursuers took up a position in a doorway across the road.

"Can I help you?"

Hamish found himself looking at a very pretty blonde. She had a mass of blond curls, bright blue eyes and a voluptuous figure in cut-off jeans and a shirt tied at her waist.

"Just looking," said Hamish. She smiled at him. She had dimples. Hamish stared at her.

"What is the matter?" she asked in a prettily accented voice.

"I was thinking I hadn't seen dimples in a long while," said Hamish.

"Dimples? What is that?"

"Those indentations in your face when you smile."

"You like?" she asked flirtatiously.

"I like." He smiled down at her. "Is this your shop?"

"No, I do not normally work here but I am helping out my friend, who has gone for coffee. I am a student."

Hamish looked at her thoughtfully. "Is there a back way out of here?"

"Yes, but why?"

"It's my wife. She's an awfy bully. I gave her the slip. I wanted to see a bit of Amsterdam but she wants to stay in the hotel room. She's got her brother following me."

The girl laughed. "And why should I help you?"

"Because you've got a bonny face."

"Bonny?"

"It's Scottish for pretty."

"Here is my friend. Greta, we're just going out the back way."

Greta said something in Dutch and Hamish's new friend replied rapidly in the same language. Greta appeared to be lecturing the girl to be careful but she shrugged and said to Hamish in English, "This way."

She held up a curtain at the back of the shop. Hamish ducked his head and went through. There was a sort of back parlour-cum-kitchen and a glass door leading out into a sunny courtyard.

"We cycle," she said.

"You're coming with me?"

"I show you some of Amsterdam, yes? I am Anna." She held out a small hand.

"Hamish."

"Haymeesh? What sort of name is that?"

"It's Highland, Scottish for James."

"I love the Scots. So we go."

They wheeled bicycles out into a narrow cobbled street which ran along by a canal. She pedalled off and Hamish, with a feeling of exhilaration, mounted and pedalled after her.

"I do not know what you are talking about," said Greta, facing the two Glaswegians. "My friend Anna went off with her friend."

The one called Sammy thrust his face close to Greta's and said menacingly, "You'd better tell us, hen."

Greta pressed an alarm button under the counter and took a step back. "I do not know what you are or what you want," she said. "Get out of here."

The alarm button was not only connected to the local police station, but lit up a warning light outside the door of the shop, which, unknown to the two Glaswegians, was flashing like a beacon.

So that just as Sammy was about to utter further threats, suddenly there were four very large Dutch policemen in the shop.

Greta spoke in rapid Dutch. The Glaswegians were handcuffed and led off. One policeman waited behind and took a statement from Greta. "It's Anna," said Greta ruefully. "I don't know who the man is she went off with. He was very tall, with flaming-red hair. British."

Water, water, everywhere, thought Hamish as Anna's delectable rump bobbed on the bicycle in front of him. They shot down cobbled streets, each one looking remarkably like the other, and then along the banks of yet another canal until Anna stopped in front of a tall building.

"I live up there," she said. "Coffee?"

Hamish's spurt of rebellion was beginning to fade. Olivia's cold and angry face rose in his mind's eye. But, hey, he was supposed to be in charge of the operation.

Olivia was pacing up and down in front of Pieter. "What do I do now?" she asked. "He's been gone for ages. They may have killed him."

"I shouldn't think so," said Pieter. "I'll go off and check with my contacts with the police."

Hamish was sitting by a sunny window in Anna's kitchen, sipping coffee and enjoying the foreignness of it all. The very coffee he was drinking tasted foreign and exotic.

"Hamish/" Anna's voice calling from another room.

He got to his feet. "Where are you?"

"In here."

He looked into the living room: heavy carved fruitwood furniture, canary in a cage by the window, tall dresser with thick pottery blue-and-white mugs and plates.

"Hamish!"

He pushed open a door. The bedroom. Anna lying on the bed, naked.

"Come here." She held out her hand.

"I haff n-not the p-protection," he said, but approached the bed all the same, gazing at the ripe young body as if hypnotised.

She turned away from him and jerked open the drawer of a bedside table. "Help yourself"

Hamish moved round the large double bed and looked down into the drawer. Piles of condoms.

"I d-don't think…" he began, but she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"We have a little fun… yes?"

How long had he been gone? wondered Olivia. He had left at nine in the morning and it was now approaching two in the afternoon. No word from Pieter. What should she do? She was feeling guilty. She knew she had treated him with unusual coldness. Soon, she would need to phone Strathbane and tell them what had happened. Then Pieter's discreet inquiries would be no good. There would need to be a full-scale police search for Hamish Macbeth.

There was a knock at the door. "Hamish!" she cried, and ran to open it. But it was Pieter who stood there.

"Any news?"

"Yes."

"Is he alive?"

"Very much so."

"What happened?"

"They have video cameras at about every street corner in central Amsterdam. By running back the film of the street corners near the hotel for about the time you said Hamish disappeared, we saw him leave. He went into a souvenir shop. The woman said he had gone off with her friend Anna, who sometimes minds the shop for her. They left by the back way. The two Glaswegians came in and threatened her. She pressed the alarm bell and got them arrested. They have been told they are not welcome in Holland and sent on their way. I told the police at a high level that arresting them would complicate our business here."

"But this Anna…?"

"She's a prostitute. Friend Greta tried to claim she was just a girl who likes a good time. But she's on the books. She does have a good time but she takes money for it. I wonder what excuse our friend Hamish will have when he eventually shows up."

Hamish Macbeth awoke from a deep sleep. He felt marvellous. Then he looked at the clock. Two in the afternoon?

He hurriedly got into his clothes. He shook Anna awake. "I've got to go."

She smiled up at him. "I'll have another sleep. Just leave the money on the table."