by Clara Benson
‘I say,’ said Barbara, as she watched him retreat. ‘He’s rather jolly, isn’t he? Is he a friend of yours?’
‘Just an acquaintance,’ said Angela, who was also watching him. ‘I met him the other day. He is staying at the hotel.’
‘I believe you like him,’ said Barbara suddenly.
‘What?’
‘You do, don’t you? You like him.’
‘Of course I like him,’ said Angela, slightly flustered. ‘He’s very nice. You saw for yourself.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. And by the way,’ said Angela, deflecting attention from herself by going on the attack, ‘what exactly were you doing to crash the Ellises’ car into a tree?’
Barbara saw she had been caught.
‘Oh, it was just an accident,’ she said airily. ‘Honestly, Angela, it could have happened to anyone. I mean, they should have cut that tree down years ago—Gerald said so himself. It was nothing, truly.’
‘I see,’ said Angela, and was about to press further, but Barbara forestalled her by escaping into the house. Angela followed her shortly afterwards, and they sat in separate rooms for the rest of the afternoon to avoid any conversation that might prove mutually awkward.
FOURTEEN
‘Here we are!’ announced Barbara brightly when Clifford Maynard opened the door to them the next morning. ‘We’ve come to look for the treasure—and we mean to find it, too!’
Miss Trout greeted them with a beaming smile as they entered the drawing-room.
‘Oh, I’m so glad you have come,’ she said to Angela. ‘The more help we have, the better—especially now that time is so short. Although, of course, I’m sure that Barbara would have done a fine job of searching the place by herself. Did you find the other end of the tunnel, yesterday, my dear?’
‘Yes,’ said Barbara, ‘and I followed it all the way to the end, but there was nowhere to hide anything that I could see.’ She and Angela had agreed that it would be better not to mention the small fact of Barbara’s having escaped from the tunnel through the house.
‘I have never been inside the tunnel myself,’ said Miss Trout, ‘as naturally I am too old for that kind of thing, but Clifford has explored it several times and never found the necklace either. I think, therefore, we must assume that it is not in the tunnel at all, and concentrate our searches on the house itself.’
‘We thought it might be behind a secret panel somewhere,’ said Barbara. ‘This looks just the sort of house to have secret panels.’
‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it? I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if there were one.’
‘Don’t you know of any for certain?’ said Angela. ‘I should have thought you of all people would have known of any concealed hiding-places that existed at Poldarrow Point.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Miss Trout. ‘I have heard rumours, but never seen one myself.’
‘Where shall we begin?’ said Barbara, looking about her. ‘Miss Trout, we thought we might start here in the drawing-room.’
‘That sounds like an excellent plan,’ said Clifford Maynard. ‘Aunt Emily, we will search while you sit and rest.’
‘But I should like to help,’ said Miss Trout.
‘Nonsense—I won’t have you exerting yourself beyond your strength.’
‘Oh, do let her help, Mr. Maynard,’ said Barbara. ‘Miss Trout won’t do anything to tire herself out, will you, Miss Trout? After all, it’s her necklace, and she has more of an interest in it than any of us, since it will allow her to stay here if we find it. Of course she ought to be in on it.’
Clifford relented.
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘but I insist on your sitting down often, Aunt.’
‘Naturally, Clifford,’ said Miss Trout. ‘I have no wish to exhaust myself.’
Barbara was already examining the chimney-breast for signs of a hidden cavity. Angela supposed she ought to make herself useful too, and began rapping on the walls. Clifford took the hint and pulled up the corner of the rug, looking for trap-doors. For some time nothing could be heard but the sound of knocking, tapping and banging as they listened for a tell-tale hollow sound that would indicate a void where something might be hidden. After an hour or so Barbara, who had been trying to pry off a section of skirting-board by the window, suddenly let out an exclamation of pain and sat back on her heels.
‘Ouch!’ she said. ‘I’ve got a splinter in my finger.’ She examined the offending extremity and squeezed at it. ‘I can’t get it out. Be a darling and do it for me, will you, Angela?’
Angela looked up from a rickety old writing-desk, where she had been searching for a secret drawer or compartment, and came over to oblige. Barbara wrinkled up her forehead in pain but made no sound as Angela poked the splinter out using a pin.
‘Thanks,’ she said, sucking her finger. ‘Nothing in that desk, then?’
‘It doesn’t look like it,’ said Angela. ‘It’s a pity—it looks like the perfect place to hide something.’
‘I don’t believe it’s in here at all,’ said Barbara. ‘We’ve looked everywhere. You can stay here if you like, but I am going to try the dining-room.’
She was as good as her word. Five minutes later, Angela followed the sound of tapping and found Barbara knocking on the scroll-work of an antique mahogany dining-table. There was no doubting her dedication. Angela set to work herself. She began by looking behind all the pictures that hung around the walls. Several of them were large and heavy and she had to fetch Clifford to help her. They had just replaced the largest painting—a large Cornish landscape which hung over the fireplace and was dingy with soot and age—when something caught Angela’s eye. She climbed down from the chair on which she had been standing and peered more closely at it, then tapped the wall. It sounded hollow.
‘Have you found something?’ said Barbara.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Angela. ‘What do you think?’ She pointed at a part of the wall just above the mantelpiece.
Barbara came forward and stared, but saw nothing except the dark wooden panelling.
‘I can’t see anything.’
‘Run your hand over it,’ said Angela. Barbara did so.
‘Oh!’ she said in surprise. ‘This section is slightly loose.’
‘Yes,’ said Angela.
‘So it is,’ said Clifford, at their shoulder. ‘Let me see.’ He put his hand to the wall and felt around carefully, then held his hands out to indicate a rectangular shape of about eighteen inches by fifteen just above and to the right of the fireplace.
‘That would be the perfect size for a secret panel or a safe,’ said Barbara, thrilled.
‘I wonder how it opens,’ said Angela.
‘Don’t do anything yet,’ said Barbara. ‘I’m going to fetch Miss Trout.’
She ran out of the room and returned with the old lady, who looked as excited as anyone and said she did not want to miss anything.
‘Allow me,’ said Clifford commandingly. Angela made no comment but stood back to let him work. He poked at the panel for several minutes, then stood back and stared at it thoughtfully, chin in hand. He then repeated the performance, achieving exactly the same result.
‘It won’t open,’ he said. He tried to grasp the edges of the panel with his finger-nails and pull it out, to no avail.
‘I don’t think that will work,’ said Angela, ‘but perhaps there is some kind of mechanism or spring that will open it.’
She moved forward and began examining the rest of the panelling above the mantelpiece, running her hands over it every so often.
‘Hmm,’ she said. She turned her attention to the wall to the right of the fireplace and below the panel, then stopped and prodded experimentally at something. There was a cracking sound. She prodded again, and the cracking sound was repeated as the rusty old mechanism strained to work after decades of inactivity.
‘I think it may need a little help,’ said Angela.
Her heart was beating loudly as she put her hand to the panel and pushed gently. Everyone gasped as, with some small persuasion, it turned inwards to reveal a dark recess. They all crowded forward to look.
‘Let me see! Let me see!’ said Barbara, pushing her way to the front. ‘Is the necklace inside?’
She reached into the hole and felt around. Her face fell almost comically.
‘Why, there’s only an old key,’ she said. She brought it out and held it up for them all to see. It was indeed a large, old key of the barrel type.
‘Is there nothing else inside?’ asked Miss Trout. Her nephew shook his head and she looked crestfallen.
‘What a shame,’ said Barbara, ‘and just when we thought we’d found it, too.’
‘I wonder what the key is for,’ said Angela.
‘Perhaps it fits the box with the necklace,’ said Barbara, whose spirits were never dampened for long.
‘I doubt it,’ said Angela. ‘It looks to me like the key to a door.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Barbara, ‘and I’ll go and try all the doors with it.’
‘None of the doors in the house is missing a key,’ said Miss Trout hurriedly.
Angela, taking pity on their hosts and the fate of their personal belongings if Barbara were to go rampaging unchecked around the house, shook her head and put the key in her pocket.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Let’s keep searching. We have already found one secret panel, so I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if we were to find another.’
They all began tapping at the panelling but without success. There were no more hiding-places in the chimney-breast.
‘I suppose it was too much to hope that there would be two secret panels in one wall,’ said Barbara.
‘No, but there may be another somewhere else,’ said Angela.
‘I’m going to look in the kitchen,’ said Barbara.
‘Wait a moment,’ said Angela, seeing Barbara about to run off. ‘There’s no use in searching places at random. Preacher Dick lived here with his wife and presumably his servants. Would he have hidden an article of such great value in the kitchen, where anybody might have found it, do you think?’
‘I suppose not,’ conceded Barbara. ‘Where would he have put it, then?’
‘What about his bed-chamber?’ suggested Clifford. ‘That’s where I should keep something of value that I didn’t want anybody to find.’
‘Yes, that’s certainly possible,’ said Angela. ‘Who sleeps in that room now?’
‘Nobody,’ said Miss Trout. ‘It’s too big and draughty. Not comfortable at all, in fact.’
‘Why don’t we go and have a look?’
This was agreed to and they all trudged up the stairs, Barbara glancing fearfully about her and sticking close to Angela.
Clifford led them along the landing and stopped outside a door.
‘This is the one,’ he said and stepped back to allow them to pass.
They were in a large, old-fashioned bed-chamber in the centre of which stood an enormous four-posted bed. Barbara went to it and tested it.
‘I should love to sleep in a bed like this!’ she said.
‘I’m afraid this one is very damp,’ said Miss Trout. ‘As you can see, some of the panes have come out of the window and the rain does tend to drive in, rather. Clifford and I prefer to sleep at the back of the house, away from the sea side, where it is less picturesque but much more sheltered.’
‘This room must be above the drawing-room,’ observed Angela.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘I should have expected it to be larger, since the next door is along at the other end of the landing.’
‘These crooked old houses can be rather deceptive,’ agreed Miss Trout. ‘Shall we begin?’
They set to work. After a few minutes Clifford insisted that his aunt return downstairs and sit down, which she did without too much fuss. Angela suspected that the search was tiring her more than she would own. They were all absorbed silently in their task when there was a loud banging that made them all start, Barbara especially.
‘Is that the shutter?’ said Angela. ‘It must have worked loose again.’
‘Yes,’ said Clifford, who was already making towards the door. ‘I shall go and fix it.’
‘Well,’ said Angela, when he had gone, ‘I am starting to think that this necklace is lost forever. It certainly doesn’t seem to be in here.’
‘Oh, don’t say that!’ said Barbara. ‘It must be here somewhere, it must.’
But it looked as though Angela were right. Following a fruitless search of Preacher Dick’s bed-chamber they were invited to stop for lunch, after which they returned to their quest, but by five o’clock, after they had searched the study, the day-room, and one or two of the unused rooms at the front of the house, they were forced to admit temporary defeat.
‘We haven’t searched the cellars or the attics yet,’ said Angela. ‘We shall have to come back another day.’
They left Poldarrow Point with many mutual commiserations at their lack of success and hopes that another day would bring better luck, and walked back to Kittiwake Cottage along the cliff top. It was very refreshing to be out in the open air after a day spent indoors and they laughed as the strong breeze blew them about and pushed them towards home.
‘What a shame we didn’t find the treasure,’ said Barbara as they arrived at their own front door. ‘I was so certain it would be behind that secret panel.’
‘Yes, I was rather excited myself,’ said Angela, ‘but all we found was that old key. I wonder where it is from.’
‘May I see it?’ said Barbara. Angela reached into her pocket and handed it to Barbara.
‘A hot bath is required, I think, after all that dust and dirt,’ said Angela as they entered the house, ‘and then I believe I shall have an early night.’
She stopped to pick up a pile of letters from a little table by the door and opened the first.
‘Mrs. Uppingham has written in reply to my letter thanking her for the use of her house,’ she said. ‘She mentions Miss Trout.’
‘What does she say?’ asked Barbara, who was examining the key closely for clues.
‘Oh, just that she is interested to hear that we have made her acquaintance, since she is reputed to be something of a recluse and Mrs. Uppingham herself has been curious to meet her. I wonder—oh!’
She broke off as she saw the next letter.
‘What is it?’ said Barbara, looking up.
‘Look,’ said Angela. She held out the envelope to Barbara, whose eyes widened at the sight.
‘Why, it’s another anonymous letter!’ she said.
FIFTEEN
They stared at the envelope for a moment.
‘Go on, open it,’ said Barbara.
Angela did so. It contained a single sheet of paper, and they read it together. It said:
‘Dere Mrs. Marchmont,
Stay away from Poldarrow Point if you value yor life. Ther is nuthing for you there.’
‘Is that the best they can do?’ said Barbara in disgust. ‘I must say, if I were to take to writing threatening letters I should jolly well make a much better fist of it than that.’
‘All the same,’ said Angela, ‘it is not pleasant to think that somebody wishes one harm. Perhaps that is the purpose of the letters: to unsettle rather than to frighten. After all, one does not like to have one’s holiday spoilt. Perhaps whoever sent it counted on my leaving in disgust rather than fear.’
‘Yes, but that theory doesn’t work in the case of Miss Trout, who has nowhere to go even if she did want to leave.’
‘True,’ said Angela. ‘Well, then, I don’t know the answer. Marthe,’ she called.
Marthe emerged from the sitting-room, an inquiring look on her face.
‘Yes, madame?’ she said.
‘Here is another one of those letters, this time sent to me,’ said Angela. ‘What do you think?’
Marthe took the letter.
; ‘Yes, it is the same person,’ she said. ‘The same writing, you see, and the same scent. What does she mean by it?’
‘She?’ said Barbara. ‘Were they sent by a woman?’
‘It appears so,’ said Angela.
‘Then who could it have been?’
‘Well, we can draw at least one conclusion from it: that it must have been sent by somebody who knows of our connection with Miss Trout.’
‘Someone we know, then?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Angela. ‘Tregarrion is a small place, and anybody might have overheard me talking about it to Mrs. Walters, for example, or even have seen me walking from Kittiwake Cottage to Poldarrow Point. The cliff path is very exposed to view. Thank you, Marthe.’
‘Hmph,’ said Barbara. ‘There would be no need for whoever it was to eavesdrop on your conversation, at any rate. Mrs. Walters is a frightful old gossip and will cheerfully broadcast any secret one might care to tell her to everyone in Tregarrion—probably within the hour, in fact. She’s bound to have told at least twenty people that we were going to tea with Miss Trout.’
‘That is true,’ admitted Angela. ‘Well, then, that probably doesn’t help us to narrow down our search much.’
‘I shall pump her when I see her,’ said Barbara. ‘I’ll find out who knew.’
‘You’d better not,’ said Angela. ‘You’ll give the game away and everybody will know our business. Let me do it. I don’t suppose it will come to much, though.’
Barbara ran to look out of the window.
‘There they are, in the back garden,’ she said. ‘Do let’s have them round now. We can all have cocktails.’
‘We can have cocktails,’ said Angela severely. ‘You may have a glass of lemonade if you like.’
Barbara made a face and Angela went outside to speak to the Walters’ over the fence and ask them round for drinks. Mrs. Walters was only too happy to oblige.
‘They are coming round in ten minutes,’ said Angela. ‘Now, listen: I am going to tell them about my anonymous note, but I shan’t mention the other ones, and you must keep quiet about them too. We don’t want everybody finding out about them.’