«And anyone who read the diaries would know all of this? How extraordinarily interesting,» Alex said from behind Maggie.
Maggie turned around quickly, and just as quickly tried to give Alex a sharp punch to the stomach, which he, naturally, adeptly sidestepped. «Don't do that. Don't sneak up on people like that.»
«A thousand apologies, my dear,» Alex said. «But think of all the time we've saved, now that you don't have to repeat the story to me. Sir Rudy? Do you believe any of it? Are you , perhaps, still looking for the stolen jewels?»
«Me? Oh, maybe at first. If I was in Scotland, I'd be keeping an eye out for that Loch Ness monster, too. But it's probably all a hum. I'll bet the jewels were found more'n a century ago and never reported. Taxes, you understand. The very devil here in England. In America, too, I suppose. No, the jewels were found, and then they disappeared, that's how I see the thing. But you did ask if I knew of anything worth stealing. You never found the blue book? Strange. Somebody must be reading it, don't you think?»
«Or has already read it,» Maggie said quietly to Alex. «Let's go somewhere and talk.»
Alex gifted Sir Rudy with a slight inclination of his head. «My profound thanks, dear sir, although I fear you are correct. The jewels are most likely long gone. Excuse us, if you please? We're off on a small excursion of our own. Fruitless, I'm already convinced, but it will keep us occupied until the constable arrives. Sterling? Perry? Do try to keep up.»
«You just love taking charge, don't you?» Maggie gritted her teeth as she climbed the main staircase alongside Alex. «But do you think that's it? One of those people back there was bored, read the blue book, and decided to wait out the monsoon by looking for the jewels?»
«And found them?»
Maggie frowned. «Right. They would have found them. In just a couple of days, when everyone else has been looking for two centuries. That seems impossible. But why else would they—I'm still thinking it was Joanne and a partner— why else would they have to kill Sam, unless he stumbled on them right as they found the jewels?»
«Or the map leading to the jewels. Sir Rudy did speak of a map, remember, although that could all be conjecture, or wishful thinking, as everyone loves a treasure map with a large X marking the spot. And I agree, the idea of both the map and the jewels being hidden for several centuries, just to be discovered by chance by a pair of half-hearted treasure seekers anxious to ease their boredom? That does not, as you Americans say, compute.»
Maggie had to half-skip to keep up with Alex's long strides as they turned into the wing holding their bedchambers. Which wasn't easy because Maggie, sadly, was one of those people who, if they can't see the floor in front of them, is of the opinion that maybe, just possibly, that floor may have disappeared and they were about to step off the end of the world.
«Slow down, will you?» Maggie grumbled, knowing full well that Alex knew of her fear of walking in the dark. «But yes, that's too many coincidences. The map or the jewels. That's one. That two of the crew would agree to work together when it's pretty clear none of them like each other. That they'd find in a day or so what nobody could find in a million years. That Sam would find them just as one of them was holding up the yellow diamond and saying, 'Eureka, we're rich!' «
«Unless Sam was one of the search party from the beginning?» Alex suggested, opening the door to Maggie's bedchamber.
«No,» Maggie said, stopping dead. «Sam? But he's the innocent victim. I mean, we cast him as the innocent victim right from the get-go. I never thought about him as one of the bad guys.»
«Yes, I do remember your feelings about the man. You were about to nominate the fellow for sainthood, I believe.»
«Bite me. So I didn't like him. But you shouldn't speak ill of the dead, and all that bilge. I just assumed—»
«Shhh, we'll leave it at that and spare your blushes.»
«Oh, yeah, right. You thought he was an innocent victim, too, right up until the Uncle Willis part. Admit it.»
«If it will make you happy, I'll admit to anything,» he said, then turned to address Perry. «You'll come with me, if you please, while Sterling and Maggie remain here. Safety in numbers.»
«Where are you going?»
«Upstairs, to Uncle Willis's bedchamber-cum-prison, of course. I would like you to count to sixty and then begin to speak with Sterling here. Stand in front of the fireplace, if you would, and talk.»
«About what?»
«My dear, must I do everything? Very well. May I suggest you begin with 'Into the valley of death rode the six hundred'?»
«Smartass,» Maggie said, but she was beginning to understand. «You're thinking about those vents in Uncle Willis's room, aren't you? The ones that come off one of the fireplaces? You think they come off this fireplace? And that anything said in here can be heard upstairs?»
«That's part of it, yes, although that is not the be-all and end-all of my hopes. Perry? Shall we?»
So Maggie stayed in the room with Sterling, and counted, and fumed, and then walked to the fireplace and began reciting «Invictus,» because it was one poem she'd had to commit to memory in school that she actually remembered. Well, the first verse, anyway.
She was about to recite the poem for the third time when Perry reentered the room. «I'm sorry to report we couldn't hear anything. Alex would like you to move to the next room on this side of the hall now, please, and do the same thing. Oh, and can I stay downstairs with you now? I don't want to go back up those narrow stairs in the dark.»
Sterling cheerfully offered to trade places with Perry, but Maggie wasn't in such a jolly mood. It was dark up here, it was cold up here, and she was getting really tired of «Invictus.»
«Wait, before you go. Whose room is next door, Sterling? Do you know?»
«Not mine or Saint Just's, as we're on the opposite side of the hallway. I think, perhaps, that it is the chamber occupied by Mr. Dennis Lloyd. Tabby's, um, friend.»
Maggie grimaced. «You mean I was sleeping next door to the love nest? Because I saw Tabby's room and they weren't in there, and they've been… together almost since we got here. Okay, go back upstairs to Alex, and let's get this over with.»
Another count of sixty, and nearly five choruses of «Row, Row, Row Your Boat» later—Perry Posko actually had a very nice tenor voice—Maggie heard something and shushed her duet partner as she stepped closer to the fireplace in Dennis's bedchamber.
«You hear that?» she asked Perry, who just bit his lips together and shook his head. «I hear it.» She stepped even closer to the fireplace. «Alex? Alex! Is that you? Talk to me.»
«I still don't hear anything,» Perry said. «Must we sing again?»
«No, no more singing. I'm going up there.»
She got as far as the door before Alex and Sterling appeared.
«Recitation, Maggie. I believe I suggested recitation,» Alex scolded as he strolled into the room.
She followed him over to the fireplace. «You don't like my singing?»
«Do you?»
«No,» she said, then grinned. «I know I can't sing. But you heard us? The vents to Uncle Willis's room come off this fireplace chimney? What does that prove? And why are you knocking on the wall?»
«I'm knocking, my dear, because I couldn't locate the latch from the other side. I'm hoping it will be easier from this side.»