Sentence The Threehundredandseventysecond

And that was how it came to be that the very next morning, while photographers, reporters and TV camera crews vied for good long-distance shots, Detective Chief Inspector Bruce Bruse of Police Scotland, accompanied by Detective Inspector Gordon Brevity and a team of experienced forensic investigators under the doughty Professor Carolina Moonbeam of the Forensic Science Department at Heriot-Watt and a phalanx of officers and Borders Mountain Rescue volunteers, clambered up the path from Dingleton Hill towards the shoulder between the North and Mid Hills, where Professor of Geological Science Wilfred Bramble and Emeritus Professor of Archaeology Cristobal Dumbiedykes enjoyed a morning digestif of fortified coffee and home-baked fruit scones from Auntie Crist's

 

kitchen; “huzzah!” cried Bramble in greeting, his voice echoing back from the distant Moorfoots, Cheviots, Peeblesshire Hills and even Minto Crag, near Hawick, not to mention Black Hill by Earlston and the Three Brethren beyond Selkirk, “prepare to repel boarders!” but this last was just a little whimsy on his part, though, indeed, the idea of a scientific – which, to his mind, meant an 'academic' – study of The Cavern located beneath these picturesque hills being displaced by a 'police' investigation, with it's implications of 'Murdur,' was rather galling; he felt as if he was being sidelined by The Old Bill, and even his bluff bonhomie didn't fully disguise that resentment, but he accepted a nudge in the ribs from Cristo, muttered something about “being a good boy,” and stepped aside as the first officers approached; DCI Rebus was more polite than his reputation and gave no sign of irritation when DI Brevity committed the faux pas of referring to the two professors as Auntie Crist and Uncle Wilf, but he was genuinely interested in being shown Bramble's Sonar device and the 'map' which he had made last night after connecting it to the computer and printer back at his cousin's house; and Bramble in return was gracious when introduced by Bruse to the eminent Forensics Professor Moonbeam - “I've just been reading your recent paper on the different preservative properties of Island and Mainland Peats,” he offered, having just been shown it last night by his cousin in her Study, and then Googling her to learn a little of her credentials, before muttering something about “red bricks” before going off to bed with a rather strong hot toddy – and she in turn demonstrated that her own researches were deeper and longer-term by asking about the latest developments in the long-running battle between France and Spain over the Cave System which he had discovered in the Pyrenees, extending into both national jurisdictions although accessed from Andorra: “don't ask,” he'd said, before giving a detailed reply which had to be curtailed by DCI Bruse: “the search team is ready, Professor,” he said, adding “erm, Moonbeam,” when both heads turned towards him, and then, “erm, Madam,” when he felt that some of his hearers may have thought that the latter was a term of endearment rather than simply her surname, he blushed to his roots and had the good grace to laugh at himself, which earned him a dazzling smile from the elegant professor herself, before she apologised to Bramble, saying, “coffee later, Wilfred?” at which it was his turn to blush to his own roots, before he and Cristo were guided off what they had viewed as 'their' site and down the path towards Dingleton Hill - “let's avoid the piebalds, Wilf,” referring to the press posse on Dingleton Hill, “they'll get their story without us, especially those esemplastic tabloids which can work any four different words into a headline and produce a sensation with a handful if disparate ideas” said Cristo, “can't you see it? 'Chortling Hairy Digger guzzles digestif as piebald CSIs find esemplastic Mole in his Hole!' let's just walk round the North Hill and there's an easy path which

 

 

will take us to the new Viewpoint, well, it is new since the last time you were here, oh, and the Crematorium too, and then we can walk down, under the bypass, to Newstead and if we time it right, we'll reach Aggie's in time for a batch of scones coming out of her oven,” and her cousin rubbed his hands together with a chortle, “now that sounds like a Plan!”