The Case of the Etruscan Treasure (Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt Book 5)

by Robert Newman

  Manion was up forward, and when the man with the seaman’s cap jerked his head at the dock, he came back and helped Sara up on to it.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Where are we going?”

  “Up there,” he said, nodding toward the castle. “The house.”

  “Good.”

  They went up the dock to a gravel path that led toward the castle, Manion walking beside Sara and Andrew but keeping his distance, not really looking at them, and the two big men walking behind them.

  “Nice day,” said Sara pleasantly.

  “Yes,” said Manion awkwardly.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, how are your children?”

  “My children?”

  “Yes. When you came to see us that first time, didn’t you say that if you’d realized we were there you’d never have dropped that load of cargo because you had children of your own?”

  “Look, I didn’t like this, lying to you that way and getting you to the launch so you could be shanghaied, but …”

  “You talk too much, Manion,” said the man in the sailor’s cap. “Shut up!”

  “Who are you telling to shut up?”

  “You,” said the other big man. “Sven tell you, and I tell you too.”

  “Well, I don’t take orders from you. I take them from just one man, the boss.”

  Nevertheless, he became quiet, didn’t say another word to Sara and Andrew, just walked sullenly beside them up the path to the castle.

  11

  The Castle

  There were several buildings beside the boathouse between the dock and the castle; one was a chicken coop and one looked like a barn. The path circled around them and past a vegetable garden, then went through a flower garden and alongside a terrace to end at the massive front door that faced west toward the river.

  The man in the sailor’s cap rapped on the door with a heavy iron knocker, and after a moment, it opened and a small black man in a white coat looked out. It was obvious that he was not young, for his face was lined and his closely cropped hair was grey, but he seemed very spry and alert.

  “So you’re here,” he said. “Come in, come in.” Then as Sara and Andrew stepped into the stone flagged entrance hall, “I’m Gideon. They didn’t tell me your names.” He nodded when Sara and Andrew had done so. “Very good. Axel,” he said to the big man who had been waiting at the dock, “the boss wants you to wait out here. Sven, you and Manion can go. As for you, Sara and Andrew, will you come this way?” and he led them to an arched opening on the left of the entrance hall.

  Beyond it was a large, high-ceilinged room with French doors that opened onto the terrace. At the end of the room was a huge, ornate fireplace. And standing in front of it was Dandy Dan Cady and his companion, Biggs.

  “Here are your guests,” said Gideon. “If you want me, ring. Meantime I got things to do.” And he went into the adjoining dining room and disappeared through a swinging baize door.

  “Good morning,” said Cady with an easy smile.

  “So it was you who had us kidnapped,” said Sara. “I suppose we should have known it.”

  “Now why do you say that? How could you have known?”

  “Well, it was almost certain to be someone we knew, not a stranger. And you’re the only person we’ve met since we’ve been here who’s two-faced enough for the job.”

  “Two-faced?”

  “Well, what would you call the way you acted? First you tried to scare our friend Wyatt off. And when you couldn’t—and that twister Manion peached on you—you pretended you were coming clean, but, at the same time, you tried to buy Wyatt.”

  “Well, you certainly do talk straight, don’t you?” said Cady laughing.

  “Which is more than you do. How did you get Manion to play Judas for you and bring us to the launch?”

  “Squeezed him a little where he couldn’t take squeezing—he needed a job—and offered him a little something; the old carrot and stick. But if you feel you should have guessed that much, you’ve probably guessed the rest, why we wanted you.”

  “Of course,” said Andrew. For though, like Sara, it hadn’t occurred to him that Cady might be behind the kidnapping, once he knew the truth, it wasn’t difficult to decide why. “You want to use us to squeeze him the way you did Manion, get him to find that missing file for you.”

  “Well, I’ll be darned!” said Cady admiringly. “Are all you British naturally smart or did it rub off on you from being with Wyatt?”

  “A little of both,” said Sara. “What I don’t understand is why you think he can find it when neither your private detective nor the police could.”

  “I told you why when I came to see you. I’m not sure the police want to find it. There’s too much about them in it. Besides I’m convinced that he’s much smarter than either my private detective or the police.”

  “I don’t think there’s any question about that,” said Andrew. “But he wouldn’t have to be very smart to realize—as we should have—that you were behind this. After all, he knows how badly you want the file.”

  “But that’s exactly why he won’t suspect me,” said Cady, smiling. “He’ll refuse to believe I’d be stupid enough to kidnap you when I’d be one of the first people he’d suspect.”

  “Only one of the first?”

  “Why, yes. There are any number of people who might grab you to get him to find the file—anyone who’s in it and is being blackmailed—or anyone who’d like to do some blackmailing.”

  “And of course if he asked you about it,” said Sara, “you’d say you didn’t know a thing about it.”

  “Of course. But in the meantime he can’t even ask me because he doesn’t know where I am. No one does. No one even knows that I’ve rented this island. No, he’ll think that someone else has you and wants me to be blamed for it, and the simplest thing for him to do if he wants you back is to find the file.”

  “How are you going to let him know what you want and what he’s to do about it?” asked Andrew.

  “I’ve written him a note. You can read it if you like. Here.” And he handed him a plain white envelope addressed to Inspector Peter Wyatt.

  Andrew took out the note, and he and Sara read it together.

  “Dear Inspector,” it said. “You don’t know who I am, but I know who you are and I also know how much your young friends, Sara and Andrew, mean to you. I have them in a place you will never find. I want the file cabinet that is missing from the State Investigators’ office that was burned several months ago. Find it, and they will be returned to you safe and sound. When you have the file, let me know in the so-called agony (Personal) column of the Herald. If you wish to communicate with me for any other reason, do so in the same way.”

  It was written in a careful script, which was completely without character, and it was signed “The Sachem.”

  “What’s a sachem?” asked Sara.

  “An Indian chief,” said Andrew. “There’s just one thing wrong with your letter. How is he going to be sure you really have us?”

  “I thought of that,” said Cady. “And that’s why I showed you the note. I think you should both sign it.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Signing it isn’t enough. Someone could forge our signatures. The only way he’d believe it is if I added something that he knew only I could have written.”

  Dandy Dan looked at him and then at Biggs.

  “What do you think, Biggsy?”

  “Don’t ask me. You know I’ve been against the whole thing from the beginning.”

  “Yes, I know and I don’t know why. You’re not usuually so fussy. All right,” he said to Andrew. “We’ll try it. Write what you want, and we’ll look at it. If it looks okay, we’ll send it.”

  “I’ll need a pencil or a pen.”

  “There’s a desk over there,” said Cady, nodding to one in the corner near the windows. Andrew walked over to it, thinking harder than he ever had in his life. He knew what he wanted to do, but whether he’d be able to
was something else again. He picked up a pen, dipped it into the inkwell, then sat there, still thinking.

  “While we’re waiting, is there anything the two of you would like?” asked Cady.

  “Yes,” said Sara promptly. “Some breakfast.”

  “That’s easy,” said Cady. “Will you ring for Gideon, Biggsy?”

  “Of course,” said the little man. He tugged at a bell-pull; a bell tinkled faintly somewhere in the distance; and a moment later the white-coated black man came back in.

  “Gideon, we’ve got a pair of very hungry young people here. Do you think you can do something about it?”

  “I reckon maybe I can.”

  “What would you like for your breakfast, Sara?” asked Cady.

  “Why are you asking her?” said Gideon, frowning. “Am I the cook or ain’t I?”

  “Of course, you’re the cook.”

  “Well, all right then.” He turned to Sara. “You willing to leave it to Gideon, little lady?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Sure. Because you’re smart—anyone can see that.” Then, as he turned to go, “By the way, Mr. Biggs, I’ve been meaning to tell you we need some more coal.”

  “Heating coal or cooking coal?” asked Biggs.

  “Now why would be be needing heating coal at this time of year?”

  “All right. I’ll order some right away.”

  “Where?” asked Cady.

  “You mean where will I order it? There’s a coal dealer in Cold Spring. I’ll get it from him. Why?”

  “You know very well why. I still haven’t gotten over that load you had shipped up here all the way from New York.”

  “I told you how that happened. We’ve been dealing with Burke for years. He supplies all the coal we give away over Christmas and Thanksgiving, and he had a barge going up the river to Poughkeepsie anyway.…”

  “All right, all right.” Then, looking over at Andrew, “How are you doing, young fellow?”

  “I’m almost finished,” said Andrew. He read over what he had written, blotted it and handed it to Cady.

  Cady read it and frowned, for this is what Andrew had added to the note.

  “As John Henry North said, ‘No man is a prisoner save of his own choosing. Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main, and any man’s loss diminishes me because I am involved in mankind.’ Therefore I urge you to do as our friend the Sachem requests.” And he had signed it, Childe Roland.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “Is it supposed to mean something? Here, Biggsy. You take a look at it.”

  Biggs read it carefully, going over it twice.

  “As you probably gathered, the British are very literary,” he said. “I don’t happen to know who this North is.…”

  “One of our philosophical and religious writers,” said Andrew glibly. “He was Dean of Westminster in the early seventeenth century.”

  “And this Childe Roland, I suppose that’s what Wyatt calls you.”

  “That’s right. It’s from King Lear, kind of a joke.”

  Biggs nodded. “I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he said, giving the note back to Cady.

  “Well, send it then,” said Cady.

  “How?” asked Andrew. “When will Wyatt get it?”

  “Sven will take Manion over to Cold Spring in the launch, and Manion will take the train down and drop it at the hotel. He should have it before noon. Why?”

  “Because I don’t want him to worry about us. And I’d also like to know how long we’ll have to stay here.”

  “You think he’ll get started on it right away?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have to stay here too long. In the meantime, we’ll do everything we can to make you comfortable. Axel,” he called to the big man who was waiting in the entrance hall, “will you take our guests up to their quarters?”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “What about our breakfast?” asked Sara.

  “Gideon will bring it up to you,” said Cady.

  “This way,” said Axel, putting one hand on Sara’s shoulder and one on Andrew’s and pushing them out toward the entrance hall.

  “Take your hands off me!” said Sara angrily, slapping his hand away.

  “Easy, Axel,” said Cady. “You’ll have to forgive him,” he said to Sara. “He doesn’t mean any harm, but I’m afraid he learned his manners in a lumber camp.”

  “I just know you tell me to watch them,” growled Axel. “So that’s what I do. Go ahead now,” he said to Sara and Andrew. “Up there.” And he nodded toward a flight of stairs that led up from the far side of the entrance hall. They began climbing the stairs. At the end of the first flight there was a landing, then it went up again. It continued up—and they continued climbing—until it was clear that they must be in the tower. They were beginning to wonder how high they would have to go when the stairs ended in front of a door. Axel opened it, and they went in. Then, without another word, he pulled the door shut and locked it.

  Sara and Andrew exchanged glances. Sara smiled wryly, Andrew shrugged, and they walked forward and looked around.

  They were in a large, square, very light room that was, as they had suspected, at the very top of the tower. There were two beds in it with a night table between them. A wash stand with a pitcher and basin on it stood in one corner and in another was a trunk. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a large wardrobe that stood against the wall near the door. Though the room was sparsely furnished, the view was quite remarkable because they were at least sixty feet up and there were windows on three sides, facing north, south and west. The windows to the north looked up the river, the southern windows looked down it, and the western windows looked across the river to the cliffs that Andrew thought were called the Highlands and that were probably the foothills of the Catskill Mountains.

  “What did you write in the note to Peter?” asked Sara, walking to one of the north windows and looking out.

  Andrew told her. She thought about it for a minute, frowning.

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  He told her that, too.

  “Oh. Do you think he’ll understand?”

  “I hope so,” he said, joining her at the window. “Quite a view.”

  “Yes.” She looked out of one of the west windows and then one of the south windows. “The island isn’t very big.” It was roughly square and about a quarter of a mile each way.

  “No, it isn’t. But it’s big enough.” “So that it’s not going to be easy to get away, you mean.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you think we will be able to get away?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s not talk about it until after Gideon’s been here.”

  “All right. I liked him. At least I liked him more than Cady or Biggs or that Axel ox. But I wish he’d hurry. I really am hungry.”

  “So am I. It’s the sea air that does it.”

  “Sea?”

  “Well, river air—being on a boat.”

  “I don’t even need that. I can be hungry right in a city—either New York or London. And I usually am.”

  “That’s very unladylike, you know. Ladies aren’t ever supposed to be hungry. They’re just supposed to toy with their food.”

  “Then isn’t it a good thing I’m not a lady.”

  “What are you?”

  “I don’t know. Wait a minute.” She went to the door and listened. “Yes, he’s coming.”

  Slow footsteps came up the stairs, pausing once or twice for, as the two of them knew, it was quite a long climb. There was a rattle as Gideon set the tray down, unlocked and opened the door. Then he came in, holding it in front of him.

  “Well, this is a fine thing,” he said, looking around for a table on which to set the tray. “How do they expect you young people to eat?”

  “You complain to them when you go back downstairs,” said Sara. “Meanwhile, here.” She moved the night table between the b
eds down nearer the foot. “What about this?”

  “It’ll have to do,” said Gideon, setting the tray down on it. “Now go ahead and eat while it’s still hot.”

  Whatever it was he was talking about was concealed by a silver cover, one on each plate. Sara and Andrew each sat down on a bed and removed one of the silver covers.

  “Pancakes!” said Sara softly. “And bacon.”

  “Not just pancakes, blueberry pancakes. I picked the blueberries this morning. I’m going to give them to the boss and Mr. Biggs for lunch, but I figured they could spare a few for your pancakes.” He watched as they buttered the pancakes and poured golden syrup over them. “Well?” he asked as they each tasted their first forkful. “Is it good?”

  “Good?” said Andrew. “Gideon, you’re doing yourself a grave injustice. We’ll have to come up with a brand new word to describe them.”

  “Scrumptious,” said Sara. “Or perhaps frabjous.”

  “Frabjous,” said Gideon, chuckling. “That’s a good one. Where’d you get that?”

  “From a poem we both like,” said Andrew. “‘O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! He chortled in his joy.’”

  “Well, I guess you like them all right,” said Gideon. “But now do you see why I didn’t want anyone to tell me what to fix?”

  “We certainly do,” said Sara. “But I can’t help wondering what you’re going to do for an encore.”

  “What’s an encore?”

  “She means what you’re going to give us for lunch,” said Andrew.

  “I don’t know myself yet. I’ll have to think about it. If we were back down home, I’d go out and catch a mess of catfish. You ever eat catfish?”

  “No,” said Sara.

  “They’re pretty frabjous, too. Well, like I said, I’ll think about it.”

  “Do you do all the cooking yourself?” asked Sara.

  Andrew knew what she was doing. She was trying to find out exactly how many people there were in the castle. And so, while he tried to look casual and continued eating, he listened to Gideon’s answer with interest.