I am not entirely unprincipled. I see you are relieved. She's not your daughter, is she?"
"No," I said. "She's the daughter of a friend of mine. I care about her very much."
He nodded, and for a moment I thought he would cry. "That is as it should be. But it is not always so."
"The lost child," I said.
"Yes," he said. "The lost child. It sounds poetic, doesn't it? William Butler Yeats wrote a poem called 'The Stolen Child,' did you know that? It's a story about a child being enticed away from this vale of tears to a wonderful place by the fairies. Lovely."
I said nothing. He was going to say whatever he was going to say. I could only hope he would get distracted and I could get away, as difficult as that might be in the mud.
"But not so lovely when it's you who's lost, is it?" he went on. "Not nearly so lovely and poetic. Prosaic, perhaps, when compared to the gut-wrenching, heartbreaking stories of abuse so prevalent these days, some of them genuine, some of them not. Prosaic, yes, even perhaps, banal. But not when you're living it. Not when it's you. I was bundled off to an orphanage. Awful things, orphanages, but not nearly so bad as the home I was eventually sent to. I won't bore you with the details, just the highlights. Drunken, abusive father, feeble put-upon mother. Boy goes to bed hungry, gets up cold and even more hungry; beaten regularly; dirty, worn clothes, bad teeth, poor grades, scorn of classmates. Father beats mother almost to death; lost child beats father, leaves home never to return. Boy hears his mother is dead, finally, by his father's hand. Determined to be a success. Through hard work, desperately hard work, becomes a solicitor. Uses his new skills and knowledge to find his real family. That's it."
"And vows revenge," I said. "You forgot that part."
"Revenge," he agreed. "Beautiful, unadulterated revenge. I see it as a bright, white light of some kind, purifying, taking the blackened parts of my soul, and healing them."
Mad as a hatter, I thought.
"You think me mad," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "I prefer to think of it as focused, or even, perhaps obsessed. But you may be right. If I am, I was driven to it. These people, rich, so careless of others, they deserve everything that has happened, and will happen, to them.
"I found them, then I set out to destroy them. First, I had to get their legal work. I managed some introductions, all the right people, of course, and after giving Eamon some rather good bits of advice, if I do say so myself, took over his legal work. Then, it was just a matter of time. I looked after most of their banking and investments, and gradually I lost their money. Not in such large amounts, or so fast that they would notice it was done deliberately, but steadily. There was a period of time when it was actually difficult to lose money in the stock market, but I rather pride myself on having managed it. Not much, but a little. I'd waited a long time for this, and I wasn't for rushing it. It helped in a way that Eamon Byrne was ill. He wasn't there to see what was happening, figure it out, and he thought the reason his beloved empire was failing was on account of his inadequate sons-in-law.
"I did not benefit personally from this, you understand, not financially at least. To do so might have alerted various authorities who are charged widi the responsibility to watch out for these things. But I derived enormous personal satisfaction, I'm sure you will appreciate, from the execution of my plan.
"It was something of a disappointment to me that Eamon Byrne managed to escape my clutches by dying. Very untimely of him. I had hopes that he would die in poverty, but unfortunately he did not. In that objective, I ran out of time. I was there when he died. You're the only one who knows that, although Deirdre may have guessed. And I told him just before he died. I came down to finalize his Will and to record the videotape. I had already hidden the clues to his specifications. When he was all alone, gasping for life, I told him what I was going to do to his family. He died minutes later. Shock, I like to think, in his weakened condition. Even so, I deprived him of only a few hours, or days, of life, hardly worth it. Possibly, he will try to haunt me from the grave. I think I might enjoy that. But I didn't want any of the family to die, not yet. I wanted them alive and suffering. Anyone else was, and is, expendable." His words were full of menace, but his tone matter of fact.
"I did consider wooing one of the daughters and marrying her. It was easy enough to split up Fionuala and Conail, and she would be an easy mark. There were two problems with that. One was that whether she knew it or not, she already had very little money worth marrying, my activities being so successful so quickly. The other is that I'm not really that way inclined: women, I mean. I see my adoptive mother's bleeding and bruised face in all of them. It would have been difficult, if not impossible, for me. Perhaps you sensed that. On balance, I decided to stay with the original plan.
"And it's working rather well. Second Chance, as you may have noticed, is on the market, at fire sale prices. Just a word or two on my part is all that is required to persuade potential buyers that the property would not be suitable for them. Byrne Enterprises is on a satisfying downward spiral. Sean and Conail, who might between them have managed to salvage something, I have set against each other. To each I blamed the other, when business affairs did not go well, and they were all too eager to believe the bad things I had to say about the other. It caused all kinds of strife in the family, all of which suited my purposes. I expect to be able to buy the company within a year. They'll be grateful, no doubt, for the pittance I pay them. It will not last them long.
"There was only one problem."
"The treasure," I said.
"The treasure. If they found that, then, if it was as fabulous as Eamon said it was, and I had no reason to believe it wasn't, it would solve their financial problems. I could ruin them again, of course, but time is important to me. I want to be able to enjoy their downfall for as long as possible, and we never know how much time there will be for us on this earth."
"Why didn't you just destroy the clues? You could have told Eamon you'd placed them. He wouldn't be able to check up on you."
"Because he insisted John Herlihy come with me while I placed the clues."
Poor John Herlihy; poor all of us, I thought.
"You did rather well finding this place," Charles said. "I had all the clues, both sets. I copied them of course, before Herlihy hid them, but still, it took me some time to figure it out. Not schooled in either ogham or the old stories. You did well. It's a big place, as you can see," he said, waving the gun around. "I had a lot of looking to do. It was near the stone, Aill na Mireann. I expect that was where you were heading just now."
I nodded.
"Every moment I could, I came up here, once I'd figured it out. It was simply a matter of getting here before anyone else."
"So who hid it, the treasure, I mean, if you didn't?"
"John Herlihy, of course. I thought you knew that. I believe that Byrne had instructed him to tell the family eventually if they didn't find it. Eamon was not as heartless as that video might indicate, and he was genuinely hopeful they would all work together. He even told me that Herlihy would get it to them when I told him what I had planned. I suppose he thought that would thwart me. He can't have been thinking clearly, in his weakened condition. John Herlihy merely presented a small, but easily dealt with, obstacle."
"By which I assume you mean you killed Herlihy." It was a statement, not a question.
"I did. Not difficult, even if it never occurred to Eamon that I was capable of it. If it had, I assume he wouldn't have told me. I asked Herlihy to tell me where the treasure was. He wouldn't. It was a simple matter to send him over the side. I lured him to the cliff and pushed him over. Next, no doubt you'll ask about the others. Michael, for example. Michael crept into the house the night he was killed. He was hunting about the place, going through wastepaper baskets and such-I have no idea why he came back nor why he was creeping around."