“This must be it,” Alec said, taking the shovel from Max. He leveraged the flint away from the spot and then began to dig. It wasn’t long before we heard the sound of the spade striking something metal.
Max knelt in the grass, scraping away the dirt with his hands to reveal a tin box that had once held Dunlop golf balls. He extracted it from the earth and carefully opened the lid. Nestled inside were a letter and a metal key. The sight of the second object gave me more hope than the first, though I supposed the letter was supposed to direct us to what the key opened.
Alec was less impressed.
“Was your father one of those gentlemen who tormented house guests by making them play parlor games?” he demanded of Max. His dark pomaded hair had fallen over his forehead as he shoveled, and though he’d tried to set it to rights several times, it was now more disheveled than ever.
“No, he despised them.”
Alec scoffed. “Could have fooled me.” He began to shovel the dirt back into the hole, nearly splattering Max with soil in the process. “Maybe he was one of those secretly contrary fellows, deriding the things he loved most.”
Max ignored him in favor of unfolding the letter.
“It’s probably in code, too.”
Alec was right, but then all of us expected it to be. However, leaning over Max’s shoulder I could see this cipher wasn’t written in neat blocks like the other two. He’d changed his formula.
“Why don’t we retire to somewhere a bit more comfortable,” Sidney said, turning his collar up against the wind. “No sense standing around out here now that we’ve found it.”
Alec tapped down the hole and we returned to the Pierce-Arrow. Max and Alec sat conferring over the paper in the rear seat as Sidney drove us back onto the rough road. Because of the fenland surrounding the River Waveney, we had to swing north through the village of Burgh Castle with its round-tower church to link up with the road traveling south.
As we left the village proper, Max leaned forward to ask me to take a look at the letter. I accepted it from him, though my attention had already been snagged by some familiar-looking buildings in the distance.
“I wonder what that is,” I murmured.
“Probably the aerodrome,” Alec said. “Heard it was decommissioned a few months ago, along with a few dozen more. Now, I guess the buildings will just sit and rot.”
I frowned at the dashboard in front of me. That was the second airfield we’d encountered near a set of Roman remains where the late earl had left us a clue, for I recalled seeing the sign for RAF Bembridge when we were driving to the villa at Brading. Perhaps it was merely a coincidence, but it seemed an odd one at that. How many airfields could there really be constructed within a mile or two from sites of known Roman remains, and yet he’d chosen two of them?
Sidney glanced at me, having evidently noticed my uncharacteristic silence, even if the others had not.
“Max, are you aware of your father’s movements in the weeks before he died?” I asked.
Max leaned forward again. “Some of them. Why?”
“Did he go on any trips? I mean . . .” I paused, trying to put my thoughts into words. “If he concealed his letters and that key at these places, then . . . he must have visited them at some point, right?” I swiveled in my seat to look back at him. “But how would he have done so without arousing Ardmore’s suspicion?”
Max opened his mouth to respond and then closed it, sinking back in stunned silence.
Alec’s dark eyes glinted appreciatively. “Do you have a notion?”
“Well, what if he went on some sort of inspection tour of airfields or some such thing,” I posited. “After all, both Brading Villa and Burgh Castle have airfields near them. Could that be the connection?”
“I don’t know,” Max replied. “But I can find out.”
I turned forward again in my seat, gazing at the coded message. “Maybe if we knew where he’d been, that might save us time in figuring out where these clues are leading us.” I tried to focus my attention on the letters before me, but instead I kept seeing in my mind another airfield. One that might, in fact, also sit next to a site of Roman remains.
But that was impossible, I argued with myself. The incidents at Littlemote and this tiresome treasure hunt Max’s father had sent us on could not be linked. Surely, after the unlikely merging of our last two investigations I was merely jumping at happenstances. Ardmore could not possibly have his hands in every pie.
Whatever the case, it was more important than ever that I telephone Reg like I’d planned to days ago and ask him whether any Roman remains had ever been found at Littlemote. If nothing else, maybe he could allay that fear.
I had just convinced myself to set aside that worry for the moment and begun to consider the possible permutations of this new letter’s code, when Sidney spoke.
“Everyone, look sharp.” His jaw hardened as he gazed into the rearview mirror. “Looks like we’ve got company.” The rest of us turned to see a familiar Vauxhall bearing down on us from behind at a terrific speed.
My stomach dipped. The Pierce-Arrow was already bowling along at a spanking pace, but with the poor state of the road and the marshy ground bordering both sides, Sidney couldn’t safely accelerate any faster. That is, until the other motorcar suddenly surged forward and rammed us from behind.
I gasped in alarm as Sidney cursed, fighting to keep the roadster on the road. When the other vehicle nudged forward to slam into us again, he growled, “Oh, no, you don’t.” We shot forward, outpacing the Vauxhall, though the wheels rattled dangerously over the rough road.
CHAPTER 20
“You have the most rotten luck with your Pierce-Arrows.”
I turned to glare over my shoulder at Alec for this ill-timed quip. It was true, Sidney’s last Pierce-Arrow had been destroyed during the course of our investigation in Belgium, but now was not the time to remind him of it.
“How on earth did they catch up with us?” Max wondered aloud. “None of us saw them following us. So how are they here now?”
I had no answer to that, and it seemed neither did Alec. Sidney was too busy trying to keep us on the road and his rear bumper away from the other motorcar.
I breathed a little easier once the ground on either side of us hardened into firm earth. Now, at least if we careened off the road, it wouldn’t be into a boggy water-filled ditch but barley fields. But while Sidney was able to keep three motorcar lengths between us, Ardmore’s men also weren’t giving up. I gripped the seat beneath me, praying the motorcar wouldn’t hit a rock or divot that would send us careening out of control. As excellent a driver as Sidney was, at these speeds even the smallest mistake could be catastrophic.
Then Max said a word I did not want to hear. “Is that a gun?”
The crack of the gunshot that followed was answer enough.
Sidney cursed roundly before snapping at us. “Heads down. Hold on.” At this command, he abruptly eased off the pedal. So much so, that the Vauxhall was forced to brake hard, lest they slam into us. But just before the vehicles might have collided, Sidney shot forward again, his tires below us spitting gravel. This gained us another half dozen motorcar lengths and ended the gunfire. At least, temporarily. Whether this was because our pursuers had dropped the pistol or were wary of more tricks, I didn’t know, but Sidney wasn’t taking any chances. As we approached the next crossroads, he seemed to perk up and then made a sharp right turn.
“Have you got a plan, Kent?” Alec asked unhelpfully from the rear seat.
But rather than bark at him as I expected, Sidney responded calmly. “I recognize where we are. A chum of mine owns Ravenham Hall, and we used to spend hours racing motorcars around the property.”
“How old were you?” I demanded.
He darted an innocent look at me. “Fourteen. I know the estate and the roads around it like the back of my hand.” He narrowed his eyes in anticipation. “And I know just where we’re going to lose them.” His fingers dru
mmed the driving wheel. “As long as the gates are open.”
I only hoped he remembered that whatever motorcars they had been driving thirteen years ago would be nothing compared to his Pierce-Arrow. But perhaps he was counting on that.
We zoomed across the flat landscape and through a series of shallow curves before making a tight left turn, the motorcar’s wheels squealing. Several hundred yards down the road lined with trees and hedges, we passed a large, weathered barn before making another sharp turn. A short distance farther the gates to Ravenham Hall loomed before us. Fortunately, they were open, and we roared past the entrance pillars and into their leafy park.
I swiveled in my seat, half expecting Ardmore’s men to balk at entering a gentleman’s estate uninvited. If they even braked, I couldn’t tell, apparently intent on forcing us off the road at all costs. But Sidney was determined not to let that happen. I could see it in his eyes. And while I was clutching the seat beneath me, my insides tied in knots, he was in his element. His shoulders relaxed and a roguish grin even touched his lips.
He bore left at the fork in the drive, taking us away from the main approach to the manor. A series of outbuildings appeared on the left, each grander than most people’s homes, though they were just stables and barns. At the end of the row, he darted off on a narrower track to the left, and soon we were flying through a tunnel of trees. With each turn, he gained a little distance from the Vauxhall, whose driver obviously possessed less skill or less nerve, for Sidney nearly sent the Pierce-Arrow careening out of control. However, he seemed to know just when the roadster had reached its limit of capability, riding that edge.
We zipped through a series of curves, forming almost two figure eights, and then shot over a hill to see sky and then water. I gasped, fearing Sidney had misjudged and was about to send the Pierce-Arrow sliding into the pond, but he swung the rear end around just in time, spraying water and pebbles with her rear tires. We sped alongside the pond for a few hundred yards, just long enough to see that the Vauxhall carrying Ardmore’s men had not been so lucky, plowing headlong into the water.
Alec let up a shout of laughter just as Sidney swerved back under the cover of the forest. In a few minutes, he’d returned the Pierce-Arrow to the main drive and driven us out the rear gates of the estate.
“Good show, old man,” Alec praised, slapping him on the back. “If ever I’ve need of a getaway driver, I know who to call.”
I giggled, partly from nerves and partly from the absurdity of the statement. “This hardly seems the time to start planning to rob banks.”
“Maybe not, but it can’t be any more dangerous than tagging along on exploits with you.”
“Ardmore does seem remarkably determined to kill you,” Sidney bit out, his hands tightening again around the driving wheel.
“Actually, I think it’s the opposite.”
He eyed me in confusion.
“When Scott was—” I broke off, unwilling to finish that statement. “He said that Ardmore told them not to harm me. I think, in this, Scott may be pursuing his own agenda.”
Sidney’s gaze met mine briefly, before returning to the road, but I had easily read what he was thinking. He was thinking of the nightmare I’d shared, my memory of that missive I’d delivered and Basil Scott attacking me before a shell explosion sent us flying apart. I knew, because I was thinking of it, too.
* * *
We stopped near midday at Bury St. Edmunds to dine at a hotel standing in the shadow of the cathedral. It was a respectable establishment, and after washing my hands and face and setting my hair to rights, I asked to use their telephone. The clerk pointed me toward a booth along the wall near the door. I stepped inside and was soon connected to Littlemote House.
“Miles, this is Verity Kent,” I told the butler when he answered. “Could you please bring my cousin to the phone?”
“Of course, Mrs. Kent.” He hesitated. “But did you not wish to speak with your aunt?”
“No, it’s my cousin I want,” I replied.
“Of course. One moment, please.”
While waiting, I puzzled over why Miles had asked such a thing. It seemed an odd correction for him to venture, and I’d never seen him treat Reg as more than capable.
It wasn’t long before Reg’s voice came drawling over the line. “Why, Verity, you’ve quite shocked Mother by remembering that I do know which part of a telephone to speak into.”
“Harassing you, is she?”
“Only when I get called away from the dinner table instead of her. Makes her feel very unimportant.”
“Don’t be a cad,” I told him. “But as it happens, I needed you in particular. Do you recall that time we were playing explorers in the west garden and your brother gave Freddy a black eye because he wouldn’t agree with him?”
He chuckled. “I’d forgotten that. But why bring that up now, love?”
“Because Thomas was being so particular that day that we unearth a Roman villa rather than a coliseum, or circus, or any old thing. I know he was generally quite annoying about having his way, but it seemed an odd choice for him to take such a strong stance on, and it got me thinking. Were there any Roman remains ever found around Littlemote?”
He hummed in thought. “Can’t say that I remember hearing about any, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t. Do you want me to see if I can find out?”
“Yes, please. That would be extremely helpful.” I turned to see Sidney striding into the lobby. He’d been outside bemoaning his dented bumper. I waved at him before holding up a finger to let him know I’d be another minute.
“Of course, you could always ask yourself when you come back down.”
“Come back down?” I replied in confusion. “But I’m not certain—”
“Surely you are? We felt certain you’d come as soon as you received Mother’s message.”
“What message?”
“The one she left at your flat this morning. Didn’t you get it?”
“I’m not at my flat. In fact, I’m not even in London at the moment. What’s happened?”
“That maid. The one who went missing. She’s been found.”
My nerves tightened, somehow knowing hers was not going to be a happy ending. “Where?”
“In a shallow grave near the river. She’d been murdered.”
My head sank back and I stared up at the dusty ceiling of the booth. And here we’d all thought the girl had run off to London to become an actress. “When was she found?”
“Late yesterday by some boys fishing in the river. Apparently the swell of rain we had last week washed away some of the dirt covering her.” He broke off before adding, “The locals have sent for Scotland Yard.”
“As they should.” Two murders in the same area within the span of a month was definitely sufficient cause to call London.
“But Chief Inspector Titcomb says he still thinks Mrs. Green is the culprit.”
“Does he have any reason to do so?”
“Other than pure obstinacy?” he remarked dryly.
“Yes, that.”
“He thinks the maid was having an affair with Mr. Green.”
“Good grief.”
“Apparently she was stepping out with someone, and he’s determined to believe it was our man-of-all-work. That Mrs. Green found out and killed the little maid, and then possibly forced her husband to help her cover it up.”
I scowled at the almost merry tone of my cousin’s voice. “Reg, you are not enjoying this, are you?”
He cleared his throat before replying. “Sorry, cuz. I suppose I forgot for a moment we were speaking of real people and not some ridiculous melodrama at the pictures.”
“No harm done. Tell your mother we’ll be there just as soon as we can.”
“You’re not in London?”
“No, Norfolk.” I peered around me. “Or is this Suffolk?” I sighed. “We’re on our way back to London, and there are a few things we must take care of first. It will probably be late befo
re we can make it to Littlemote.”
“Scratch that,” he ordered. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Ver, but you sound done in. Sleep in your own bed tonight, and we’ll see you in the morning.”
“You’re certain?” I asked, rather looking forward to resting my head against my own pillow at least for one night.
“The dead maid certainly isn’t going anywhere.”
It was a crude way to put it, but I took his meaning all the same.
“Thanks, Reg.”
“Sure, doll.”
I rang off and went to tell Sidney the happy news. Another body had been found at Littlemote, but with any luck, the Scotland Yard inspector assigned to investigate would have more of an imagination than Inspector Titcomb, and feel a greater haste in seeing those toxicology tests run.
* * *
We delivered Max, along with the key and coded message, to his town house in Mayfair, and Alec shadowed him. They both had their orders. Max was to uncover his father’s movements during the weeks and possibly months before his death, and Alec was to mount guard over him and help to locate the late earl’s valet so they could question him. Meanwhile, Sidney and I set out for the Albany, where I knew George rented a set of rooms.
I was relieved to find my friend seated before his fire, reading a book, a pipe between his teeth. Part of me had feared Ardmore or his men would get to him before we could, recognizing we might have need of an expert codebreaker. I had tried figuring out the cipher to Max’s father’s latest letter on our drive from Norfolk, and quickly recognized it was beyond my meager skills. Given more time, I was sure I might be able to decrypt it, but George would be infinitely faster.
After a quick recitation of recent events, he willingly packed a bag and came with us to Max’s town house, where I knew he would be safer working than at his far-too-accessible rooms at the Albany. I felt a lingering urge to round up all of my friends and cohorts and take them to Ryde House, but then I wondered if that would simply be playing into Ardmore’s hands. If he meant all of us harm, if the latest attempts on our lives hadn’t been merely the impulses of the men he’d hired, then I didn’t wish to make it easier for him to strike a fatal blow by having them all gathered in one place. Given the half dozen murders we already knew he’d sanctioned, I didn’t discount the vile man’s capability of committing any heinous act.
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