‘So,’ Bonamy’s letter went on, ‘although I suppose this gamekeeper Goole could have gone to the keep and shoved Veryan off the top of it while Fiona was locked in the shed, there is no proof that he knew anything about the work being done at the castle, or that Veryan was an amateur astronomer – are there professional ones? – or, in fact, that he and Veryan had ever set eyes on one another. It’s true that Veryan had been up to the house to argue his case against Saltergate, but that had nothing to do with the gamekeeper who, hereafter, will be ignored, I’m sure, by the police. Well, I had better get to the point…’
‘I guess he better had,’ commented Laura, when, having been handed the letter, she had read the first scribbled pages.
‘The point is this,’ Bonamy had continued. ‘Last night, while we were hobnobbing in the cottage with the two girls, somebody or bodies must have been playing merry hell with Tynant’s trenches. Of course, with our removal from the keep and the caravan gone from the verge below the gatehouse, the place is a free-for-all once we’ve stopped work at lunchtime, for nobody goes back in the afternoons because of the hard work and the heat. Tom and I pick up Virginia and Sarah; Fiona and Priscilla go off in Tom’s car and find a quiet beach for sunbathing and a swim; Tynant, I have no doubt, is still pursuing Susannah; and I rather imagine that the Saltergates spend a lazy afternoon on the flat roof of the Horse and Cart because an awning has been erected, so they would be in the shade.
‘Well, when we arrived with Tynant and Susannah after breakfast – we’ve given up our early morning search for the treasure; three wells have been located and cleared, but only to a depth of about a couple of feet, which is no good to Tom and me, for, without proper equipment, we can see no way of excavating them further – where was I? Oh, yes! The devastation was immediately obvious. The village yobs had been playing a game of Up, Guards, and at ’em, I should think, and the fun has ended in sheer bloodyminded destruction.’
‘Typical of the modern young,’ said Laura, reading the last few words aloud.
‘Typical of some of them,’ amended Dame Beatrice. ‘As Mowbray telephoned to tell us two workmen are missing, I think I would like to go along and visit the scene of this devastation. I wonder whether it ties up with something the boys told us about a trench being unlawfully deepened?’
‘I’m all for it, but what is the object of the exercise?’
‘I think there must be a rumour current in the village that somewhere in the castle grounds treasure has been buried.’
‘So you don’t think there has been just plain blind vandalism?’
‘It is only a suggestion that there may have been method in the seeming madness. I have an open mind.’
‘Slightly biased by what you know of human nature and its go-get instinct, though. Oh, I still haven’t finished reading Bonamy’s letter.’
‘The damage to the site is pretty considerable,’ Bonamy had continued. ‘Everybody is certain that it is the work of village hooligans, although I’m bound to say that, although we’ve now been on the spot for some time, we have never seen a sign of skinheads or other rumbustious gangs. However, something young Priscilla said, just as the gin, plus a poem she insisted on reciting to us, caused her to wash out the party atmosphere with some very embarrassing sobs and tears, has made me think a bit. She said that she is certain Tynant and Saltergate have had a worse row than the one Saltergate had with Veryan, and we know how that one ended up, although it would be libellous for me to make any obvious connection.’
‘He’s made one all right, though,’ commented Laura, ‘but we gave up suspecting Saltergate ages ago, and I thought Bonamy had too. Still, there’s the hint, for what it’s worth. As for the row, I’ve no doubt that Priscilla, the wan little half-portion, is right. There’s so little of her, and what there is is so quiet and unnoticeable, that perhaps she gets to hear things which would not be said in front of other people.’
‘I think you may be right about Priscilla, but I certainly refuse to believe that Mr Saltergate, however bitter his feelings, would stoop to the kind of revenge at which Bonamy hints. We may be able to come to firmer conclusions when we have seen for ourselves how much and what kind of damage has been done. Ring up Holdy Bay and find out whether our hotel can lodge us tonight and tomorrow night. I want to get to Castle Holdy before too much clearing up is done.’
‘Right. I love not to let the grass grow.’ Laura skipped to the end of the letter, folded it and handed it back. She returned from the telephone to report that rooms were available at the Seagull. ‘I suppose business has fallen off since they axed the local railway,’ she said. ‘Are we proposing to look at the castle before we clock in at the hotel?’
‘Certainly. We can lunch on the way down.’
‘Do you think I underestimate young Yateley?’
‘She may not have a head for gin and she may be affected deeply by poetry, especially when she is reciting it, but there is nothing wrong with her brains. So far as I know, she has made only one slip. According to the Chief Constable, she stated to Detective-Superintendent Mowbray that, during the fateful weekend when Professor Veryan died, she joined in some kind of political demonstration. Investigation proved that there were no London marches, political or otherwise, at that time. I wonder why she made a statement which could be disproved by the county police in contact with the Metropolitan branch? I suppose W. S. Gilbert has the answer.’
‘To lend verisimilitude, et cetera?’
‘Exactly.’
Bonamy’s reference to the damage was, as Laura put it, the understatement of the century. Tynant’s outer trench was a gaping, soil-scattered ruin. The pegs he had put in to mark the inner trench had been dragged out and thrown away and a pick and shovel had eliminated all traces of his carefully measured inner circle.
‘Looks as though the Gadarene swine have been out on a bender,’ said Laura. There was more to come, but of a very different nature. Mowbray’s posse, sent to search Goole’s shed and the woods, had found a motorcycle combination in a little clearing. Goole, although hard-pressed by Mowbray, strenuously denied all knowledge of how it had come to be there.
‘And I believe him up to a point, sir,’ said Harrow. ‘I don’t think he would have left it in the open. He’d have hidden it in that shed of his.’
‘But then he couldn’t have denied knowledge of it,’ said Mowbray.
14
Interim Reports
« ^ »
The moon is up, the stars are bright, the wind is fresh and free”,’ said Tom.
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning, as Alfred Noyes went on to say, “we’re out to seek for gold tonight”, although not across the silver sea, but in the devastated area which used to be the outer bailey of Holdy Castle. Now that there is no star-gazer on top of the keep and no caravan at the gatehouse, the coast is most beautifully clear and we ought to take advantage of the fact.’
‘I thought you had given up all thought of the treasure. It seems impossible for us to clear the wells.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder whether other people besides ourselves have got wind that there may be something worthwhile among those ruins. I’ve been thinking about the mess somebody has made of Tynant’s trenches and trying to work out who was responsible for it.’
‘Village louts.’
‘There don’t seem to be any. Most of the residents are retired people with sufficient means to buy up the old cottages, convert them and pass a blameless old age adding various amenities to their dwellings, messing about with gardening and, when they want a bit of excitement, walking the dog and cleaning the car or having cream teas at the restaurant.’
‘Then who did vandalise Tynant’s trenches?’
‘Either Stickle and Stour or the two chaps who lost the chance of a job on the site when you and I volunteered to help out. You mark my words. A rumour has gone around. Chaps like Stickle and Stour would never believe that Tynant is doing all that digging just to find an old grave with a few mouldy bones and some bits of broken pottery or whatever. I bet there are plenty of folk-tales about buried treasure at the castle. There must be, or somebody wouldn’t have written that piece in the county magazine. What’s more, they think the stuff is buried in the outer bailey, otherwise Tynant, in their opinion, would be excavating wells, not methodically digging trenches. The point is, you know, they could be right.’