The Cryptic Lines

by Richard Storry

  Matthew was now on the edge of his seat. So was Charles. The fact that he had already viewed the film in no way detracted from the drama of the situation.

  "And, whilst this may come as something of a surprise, I have decided to include you, Charles, in this challenge - that is, if you would like to be involved. I feel that the exemplary quality of your service to me is deserving of some form of...how shall I put it?...acknowledgement."

  He gave a little chuckle.

  "In essence, it's really very simple," Lord Alfred continued, "I am about to go and hide this little trinket somewhere on the premises."

  He produced from his pocket a small jewellery box which he turned to face the camera. Slowly, he opened the hinged lid to reveal a large, deep blue sapphire which sparkled as he carefully rotated the box in such a way as to ensure that the light reflected and glinted appealingly from its many expertly-crafted facets. The jewel was truly beautiful. Matthew tried to stifle a gasp, but both Charles and James heard him. It was almost as if the figure on the screen had heard too.

  "You recognise this, my dear Matthew? Of course you do. It's the sapphire that you said you were going to buy for your dear mother's birthday back in the days when you had some money. As I recall, you decided instead to spend the money on a holiday for you and one of your many girlfriends. I wonder how long she stayed around? Well, no matter. Anyway, as you can see, I bought it instead, and now I'm going to hide it. And now we get to the part that will interest you."

  He leaned forward and spoke carefully and slowly, almost conspiratorially.

  "Matthew, my son, and Charles, my solicitor, this is a contest. Together with this little gem I will leave all the necessary information explaining how to affect the transfer of my estate to whichever one of you discovers it. With the exception of James' five million, find the sapphire and inherit the lot. But there's nothing in this game for coming second. Absolutely nothing. The winner takes all."

  He smiled and waited a moment to allow his words to sink in. He let loose a hoarse cackle as he resumed:

  "So I imagine you're probably already wondering where its hiding place could possibly be. Well, I'll tell you: anywhere. It could be anywhere in the environs of Heston Grange. Absolutely anywhere. In fact, the words 'needle' and 'haystack' come to mind. But, since you know me to be such a benevolent old fellow, I'm going to introduce a little culture to the proceedings by giving you a piece of poetry to assist you in your search. This is one of my favourite poems and I'm really rather proud of this. Are you sitting comfortably? Then listen, my dears; listen very, very carefully."

  He was obviously relishing this whole presentation.

  "The poem is as follows."

  He cleared his throat and began.

  'Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed

  Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun bleached stone;

  Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,

  And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.

  And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,

  In the still chamber of yon pyramid

  Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,

  Grim warder of this pleasance of the dead.'"

  In another life the old chap would have made a good actor; he had read very well.

  "Suitably enigmatic, wouldn't you say? So there you have it, my dears. Pay close attention to all my words and, if you have the intelligence to work it out, these cryptic lines will lead you to the location of this all-important little blue stone." He held it up once again. "And, to be fair, the clues are not really that difficult; I'm sure you will see through them eventually." He chuckled again. "Well, I think that covers everything - oh, my mistake, there is one thing more; I almost forgot. You see, I couldn't resist putting just a small sting in the tail, so this little game of mine also carries a time limit. If neither of you have been able to discover the whereabouts of the sapphire exactly two weeks from the date of my demise, then my instructions are that my entire estate is to be sold and the proceeds shared equally between the Federation of British Artists and the Society of West End Theatre. There now, that's given you some food for thought hasn't it? You do remember what 'thought' is, Matthew? Who knows, maybe you're about to finally give some attention to your poor old dad's words of wisdom. Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat but I have to go and initiate a rather intriguing game of Hide and Seek. Thank you for your kind attention. Goodbye."

  He rose from his seat, held the jewel before the camera one last time then, dropping it back into his pocket and giving a final cheeky smile to his audience, walked out of the frame in the same direction from which he had entered it. The film ended. The screen went dark and James began to open the curtains.

  Other than the sound of the curtains gliding along their smooth rails the room was silent. The words of the poem rang in Charles' mind and he thought back to the night of Lord Alfred's death. With his final breath His Lordship had mentioned these cryptic lines. Charles hadn't known what he meant then but he did now, and cryptic they certainly were. Not surprisingly, Charles was now thoroughly intrigued as to exactly where the clues hidden within these lines would lead. How crafty Lord Alfred had been to devise such a scheme! And where was that large sapphire hidden? His thoughts were suddenly jolted back into the present as he became aware that Matthew was breathing loudly and deeply.

  "That old bugger always had it in for me," he snarled.

  Chapter 6

  What followed was an awkward quietness in the room which was suddenly shattered as Matthew leapt to his feet, knocking over the side table as he did so, on which stood the remains of his glass of sherry. As it hit the floor the delicate glass shattered, and the expensive carpet was spattered with the dark liquid and shards of broken glass. Ignoring the looks of surprise on the faces of the other two men, he stomped across the room with a face as dark as thunder, threw open the door and stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and leaving Charles and James momentarily stunned. He passed briskly along the numerous twisting corridors, eventually reaching the main entrance hall with its elaborate chandelier, and then out into the courtyard and the clear, crisp morning air. He walked up to his silver cobra, cursing under his breath and, as the frustration rose within him, he clenched his fist and brought it down firmly onto the bonnet. Why? he wondered. Why? Why? He should now be the proud possessor of a vast fortune. Instead, he found that he was having to play some ludicrous game - a game which he could quite possibly lose and end up with nothing! Was his father even allowed to do things this way, he wondered. He realised he already knew the answer. Whatever else he might think about his now deceased dad, there was one thing he would say for him - he was meticulous and thorough in whatever he put his hand to.

  Just then, a thought struck him. In the film, the poem had mentioned something about a sun-bleached stone. Could that possibly be referring to the small disused family graveyard in the grounds? If that was where the sapphire was hidden Matthew was going to go and fetch it right now and bring this stupid farce of a contest to a swift conclusion. Without wasting a second, he turned on his heel and ran out of the courtyard, disappeared round the corner of the house and moved rapidly into the gardens beyond, in the direction of the cemetery.

  "James, I'm so sorry," said Charles. "I had no idea his reaction would be quite so violent."

  Having cleared away the pieces of broken glass, James had removed his jacket and was now on his hands and knees trying to sponge the sherry stain from the carpet.

  "Oh, that's alright, sir. I think we both knew that master Matthew was hoping to hear something slightly different."

  Charles' brow furrowed, and he asked, "James, naturally I am very excited at having been included in his Lordship's Will, but why? Why me?"

  "Sir?"

  "Why would he create a situation in which the very larger part of his estate could come to me, of all people?"

  James paused in his cleaning and looked up. With a firm gaze he said,

>   "Lord Alfred held you in very high regard, sir, and, with all due respect, there isn't really anyone else living to whom he could have made such a gesture." He lowered his head and resumed his scrubbing.

  Still marvelling at this remarkable turn of events, Charles picked up his legal pad and began to play the film again. Since the curtains where now open, the image on the screen was not so clear. However, this time he did not need to see, only to listen; and, when the words of the poem were recited, he began to write them down. Since his speed at shorthand was decidedly rusty, he needed to hear four further recitations to make sure he had the words written correctly. Then he sat in silence, reading them over and over. What could they mean? Then it occurred to him that he did not even know what a cypress tree looked like. Perhaps he needed to find out? A quick scan of the library shelves enabled him to find a large illustrated dictionary; and he was interested to discover that as well as being the name of a tree, the word 'cypress' also described a type of thin black fabric, often associated with funerals.

  Almost out of breath, Matthew shoved open the small wooden gate, set into a fragile-looking fence with flaking white paint, and lurched into the cemetery. As he entered, the sounds of the crashing waves from the nearby ocean receded. No birds sang here, and the wind respectfully kept its distance. This quiet haven lay virtually hidden from view, being bordered on three sides by a combination of tall hedges and coniferous trees. The cemetery itself, though, was in a state of disrepair. What had once been well kept foliage and neat topiary was now messy and unkempt. Piles of old dry leaves were everywhere covering the ground, along with a mass of poison ivy, whose creeping branches threatened to trip up all but the most careful of visitors. The last interring had occurred long before Lord and Lady Willoughby had moved into Heston Grange and many of the inscriptions on the gravestones had now all but worn away through constant exposure to the elements.

  Glancing this way and that, Matthew's attention was drawn to the memorial at the far end of the grave site. Standing apart from the others, and on its own plinth, this one must have been in honour of an owner of Heston Grange who was especially esteemed. In its prime it would have looked immaculate, with all kinds of ornate carving in the stonework round the sides, but now it was rather weather beaten, and a number of weeds grew around its base. Its top was a flat piece of white marble and - Matthew suddenly noticed - it was directly beneath two overhanging trees. He didn't really know anything about different varieties of tree but, he wondered, could these be the cypress trees mentioned in the poem? He began to examine the grave closely, circling it and looking for anything that might provide some sort of further clue. What he really needed, he realised, was to go back to the house and write down the words of that blasted poem. He was just turning to leave when he noticed, near the base of the plinth on which the memorial stood, that one of the pieces of stone seemed to be a little out of alignment. Crouching down, he also found that its position exposed an edge which appeared unsullied by the ravages of time. Had this stone been moved recently? He reached out and pushed it. It was loose! Getting down on his knees and bringing both hands to bear on the stone, he managed to loosen it further, creating a gap into which he could slide his fingers. He was then able to grasp the stone and, little by little, he worked it backwards until, all at once, the whole stone slid out, revealing the dark cavity behind. The opening was only just large enough for Matthew to thread his hand inside. His wrist and forearm became grazed on the surrounding stonework as he groped about, feeling for - for what? He didn't know, but hoped it would be obvious if he did manage to discover anything. His searching fingertips were just finding damp earth and he would feel an occasional tickle as some insect or other scurried across the back of his hand. Then, suddenly, he felt an object that was far too geometrically defined to be found naturally in such a location. Gently taking hold of it, he carefully eased both it and his hand back through the opening in the memorial and brought his find out into the light of day. It was a small grey metal box with a hinged lid. When he saw it, Matthew gasped in surprise and felt his pulse quicken. He recognised the box as being one that his father used to keep in his study. Slowly and deliberately, he moved away from the grave and sat down against one of the overhanging trees. Holding the box in front of him, he took a deep breath and slowly opened the lid.

  It took him a moment to register what he saw. According to the film, it was a blue sapphire that his father was going to hide, so what was this red jewel doing here? He picked it up but then realised immediately that it was nothing but a plastic imitation. Then he noticed the piece of paper which had been lying beneath it. Taking it from the box and unfolding it, he read, "You didn't really think I'd make it that easy, did you? Ha ha!" Matthew cursed and threw the worthless gem into the bushes.

  Meanwhile, Charles was still in the library, reading and re-reading the words of the poem. What was he trying to find? What was he looking for? He hadn't any idea. He watched the film yet again. Still no luck. Lord Alfred's words seemed to mock him from the screen. "The clues are not really that difficult; I'm sure you will see through them eventually." Well, Charles certainly hadn't seen through these 'easy' clues up to now. He stood up and placed the poem carefully in his pocket. Glancing down at the still damp patch on the carpet it seemed that James had made a pretty good job of removing the stain. Once it was dry you would probably never know there had been a spillage at all.

  He walked out into the corridor, and paused looking in both directions. As he took in the large number of doors along this corridor alone he began to realise the potential magnitude of the task that he was facing. How many other corridors did this crumbling old mansion contain? Charles wasn't sure, but he knew it was a lot; and the lack of regular symmetrical design didn't help either. Anyone, throughout the whole of history, who had ever wanted to hide anything, could not have chosen a better hiding place than Heston Grange. Being in want of any sort of idea as to what this cryptic poem might mean, Charles walked off into the maze of corridors in the hope that some sort of inspiration might strike.

  Matthew ran back into the entrance hall, now totally furious. He made straight for the nearest closed door, wrestled it open and stomped into the room beyond. Every item of furniture in the room was covered with a dust sheet. He gave a cry of exasperation and began frantically pulling them off, one after another. Great clouds of dust billowed enthusiastically into the air and span in his wake as he worked his way round the room. He uncovered what turned out to be an antique writing bureau and immediately began pulling open all of its drawers, rifling through the contents without any thought as to whether they were important or carefully ordered. A single all-consuming passion filled his mind: Find that sapphire! Find it!

  He paused in his search as he became aware of a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. James stepped fully into view as he entered the room. Matthew looked at the floor, feeling a little sheepish as he stood in the jumbled pile of papers now lying at his feet.

  "Please don't worry about the mess, master Matthew. I'll tidy it up."

  The habit of a lifetime of service ensured his tone remained civil. Matthew mumbled something that might have been half an apology and headed for the door. He was about to make his exit, but then he hesitated and turned back to see the elderly butler picking up all the dropped papers. He returned to him and joined in with the clear-up.

  "You really don't need to trouble yourself, sir."

  "That's alright, James. I'm sorry about all this. I...I've...well, today has just been a bit of a roller-coaster ride, that's all."

  "I can well imagine, sir."

  There followed a lull in the conversation as the tidying was done, although James sensed that their talking was not quite over, just yet. He was right.

  "Er...James?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Why did my father hate me so much?"

  What a question. James paused, the half-sorted documents in his hands temporarily forgotten. There was an appreciable silence
before he spoke, and his tone was kind.

  "Your father always maintained the highest hopes for you, sir."

  He immediately returned to his task and Matthew realised that this particular conversation was over, at least for now.

  Later, as shadows lengthened and the sun began to set once more, Charles, with his mission anything but accomplished, re-emerged from the depths of Heston Grange into the more frequented areas of the house; and, in due course, came and sat in the dining room at a long wooden table, which could have accommodated twenty people quite comfortably, and awaited the arrival of one of Mrs Gillcarey's delicious home-cooked dinners. He had made a point of ensuring that two places should be set, although whether Matthew would actually appear and join his new rival for the meal was perhaps another question. At the far end of the room a large fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth around which two Chesterfield sofas and several high backed chairs were arranged.

  Charles sighed and gazed at his distorted reflection in the base of the silver candelabrum that stood on the table, with a tiny, tapering flame atop each of its deep red candles. For a moment his thoughts drifted back to the moment when he finally realised he was no longer engaged. Maybe he had been neglectful in some way? Certainly, having never known his own father he felt to some extent that he was having to navigate uncharted waters without a guide, as it were. But why? The question boomed and reverberated through his mind. Why had she left him? Everything had seemed to be going so well...

  His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the dining room door opening. He glanced up, expecting to see Mrs Gillcarey make her entrance but it was, in fact, a rather crestfallen Matthew who came in. They made eye contact and Charles gave a slight nod. Matthew stayed where he was and looked at the floor. After a few moments he looked up and said, quietly, "Erm...may I join you?"