took it for granted.
Nobody ever asked me to produce title deeds, or confirmation of ownership. Not until Smithers and his London
acquaintances came along. If I want to carry on the fight, I need proper proof of ownership!"
Ben interrupted her. "What else did Hetty tell you she overheard?"
The old lady fiddled with her worn wedding ring. "Well, Maud Bowe told Smithers that they would lose the
contract if they don't have me moved out and the almshouse in their possession by the due date. Smithers blustered a
bit, but wasn't quite sure how to deal with the problem. Then Maud said that she had friends in London who could
take care of me."
Ben looked questioningly at her. "Friends?"
The old lady looked worried as she continued. "Aye, friends she called them. But Smithers knew what she was
talking about. He said that he'd have nothing to do with Maud's plan, said he was a man with a respectable family and
high standing in the village, and that he didn't want paid bullies coming here from London!"
This was an unexpected turn of events, though Ben was not surprised at the things big-city business firms would
come up with in achieving their aims. He tried not to let his concern show. "Oh, and what are these so-called big-city
friends supposed to do?"
The old lady fussed with her apron strings. "Frighten me out of my house, Maud said. Smithers told her that if it
came to light, he'd deny all knowledge of the whole thing. But she replied that it was only the same thing he had been
trying to do through his bullying son and the gang he has around him. That seemed to shut Smithers up."
Ben had a question to ask. "When are these 'big-city friends' supposed to arrive in Chapelvale, Miz Winn?"
She shrugged. "Hetty never said, but she did mention that the minute Wilf arrived home this afternoon, Maud
went up to her room to write a letter."
Ben pondered this for a moment. "Suppose it takes a letter two days to get to London from here. Give it another
day for these people to get themselves organized, and say the better part of a day for them to travel up here. Four days.
Say sometime next Thursday, late afternoon."
Mrs. Winn rose and started clearing dishes from the table. "What are we going to do, Ben?"
Gazing out of the window at the glorious summer evening, Ben patted his dog's head. "Leave this to us, Win-
nie!"
24.
WHEN JONATHAN PRESTON took down the shutters from the almshouse back windows, morning sunlight
flooded in. It was nice to have a bit of light and fresh air in the old place, he thought, taking the lamps down from the
beam and extinguishing them. A piece of floorboard timber, weighted down by two bricks, stood on the table; he
lifted them to one side. The old ship's carpenter smiled with satisfaction at the two pieces of paper he had rejoined
skillfully with fish glue and rice paper as a backing. He held it up to the light, looking at the four small holes,
murmuring to himself. "Good as new, writing's all joined up proper now.
"Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,
Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure."
He gazed at the paper awhile, then put it down, massaging the corners of his eyes with finger and thumb. "Wish
I knew what those four little holes mean!"
He was putting the kettle on for tea and cutting some bread and cheese, when Ben's face showed at the window.
"Morning, mate. Is it all right to come in? I've brought my friends along."
Jon straightened up, one hand on the small of his back. "Bring 'em in, lad, by all means!"
Amy and Ned climbed through the windowspace with Ben. Alex followed behind, a touch hesitant. When they
were introduced, the old seaman cut up the cheese rinds with his clasp knife, feeding them to the black Labrador and
scratching vigorously behind the dog's ears. "This dog o' yours, Ben, he's a fine animal. Aren't you, boy?"
Ned gazed adoringly at the old carpenter, passing a thought to Ben. "What a nice old cove. He certainly knows
how to treat a dog. Mmmmmm! Carry on, sir, more to the left, ah, that's it. Best ear scratcher I've met in many a year.
Mmmmmm!"
Ben nudged the dog with his foot. "Move over a bit, Ned, you're beating me to death with that tail of yours!" He
pointed to the rejoined paper on the table. "You've done a good job there, old friend. Found any more clues or bits of
information?"
Jon shook his head. "Nothing, lad, though I was just going to give this place a good cleanup to see what I might
come across. Would you and your pals like t'help me?"
Amy rolled up her sleeves. "Right, tell us what to do!"
Sweeping the floor was out of the question. It raised too much dust, but there was lots of old timber needed
stacking outside. Ben and Amy passed it out through the window, and Alex and Jon stacked it up against the outside
wall. They worked right through until midday, when they stopped to have a small lunch of the old seaman's bread and
cheese and a cup of tea. All four sat on the window ledge, surrounded by dust motes, which swirled in the air like tiny
golden specks. Jon appeared well satisfied with the job they had done thus far.
"Looks a lot better, don't it. Now that old floorboard plankin' is out of the way, I'll be able to move my table into
the corner."
The younger boy had lost his initial shyness about Jon and pointed to the table. "Look at that table's far leg.
You'll either have to fix it or find another one."
Jon stared at the leg in question, which up until then had been hidden behind a stack of wood. "Aye, so I will,
mate— there's a piece of it missin', see. 'Tis balanced on that tin biscuit box. Must've been like that since I arrived
here an' I've never noticed it. Let me see, now."
The old man took the two bricks he had used as weights. Standing on edge atop of one another they were the
depth of the tin. "Ben, Alex, hold that table up an' I'll wedge these under."
It was a heavy table, and the two boys gasped as they held it up. Amy pushed the tin out of the way whilst Jon
stuck the bricks in position. "All right, you two, let it down easy, careful now!"
Jon tested the table, it was solid and unmoving. "That's shipshape! Let's take a look at that rusty, old tin box,
Amy."
Amy placed the box on the table. "Feels like there's stuff inside!"
Jon traced the lip of the tin lid. "Rusted tight, hah! Villier's Afternoon Tea Wafers. Some years since I set eyes
on them. Only one way to find out what's inside, mates!" Jon had a useful-looking can opener on his clasp knife. He
punched it through the corroded metal and began vigorously working it along the edge. The tin was not as weak as it
first appeared to be, and the old seaman's opener caused a skreeking noise that made the three young people wince. He
stopped only when he had cut down three edges. "Papers!"
Covering his palm with the sleeve edge of his jersey, he wrenched the flap of tin back and shook out the
contents onto the table. Immediately the four began sorting through the papers. They were yellowed with age. Amy
studied one.
"Old back issues of the Chapelvale Chronicle! Look at this one, it's dated 1783. 'Pitt the Younger becomes
British Prime Minister.' 'American Independence to be recognized.' 'Monsieur Montgolfier is to fly in a balloon.' I'll
bet Mr. Braithwaite would be interested in these."
Jon piled them in a stack. He seemed disappointed. "Well, they're of little use to anyone else. Come on, lass,
let's take them over to him."