That the gun was kept in a drawer of the old Singer sewing machine was never a secret; although, when his father died, its significance as a reminder of the old man’s mysterious occupation was quickly overshadowed by the discovery of a fortune in banknotes in the loft.
There was, too, the emergence of some alarming connections with an extreme nationalist organisation. And if all that wasn’t enough to disrupt his quiet existence, the presence of dognappers in the village presented a more immediate cause for concern than how to deal with an unexpected legacy, although the inherited gun would come in handy there.
For the new owner of the gun, and very quickly too, the quiet Scottish village of Beachborough was transformed into a centre of smuggling, money laundering and revolution, such a situation of turbulence as had not been known since the Jacobite rising, centuries before. As a singularly unremarkable man, would it be possible for him to stay such an unsettling tide of change, or could he maintain his studied convention of spectator?
