candlesticks, but that won't get anything solved. We've worked too hard and long to let this thing defeat us!"
The dairyman farmer got up to strap Delia's nosebag on. "You're right, lad, but what's our next move?"
Mr. Mackay, who had been brushing clay from his clothing, rose smartly to his feet. "I suggest we go carefully
back over all the evidence. Search the hole where we found the pail, inspect the pail, and sort through that tallow
again. One of us will stay here and go over the candlesticks with a fine-tooth comb. If we're all agreeable, of course!"
Eileen took a pail from the gig to fill with water for Delia. "Good idea! Nothin' worth havin' is come by easy, I
say. Ben, you take the candlesticks. Will, take Jon and the sergeant an' check that 'ole you dug. Mr. Braithwaite, Mr.
Mackay, see if you can find any message in that old copper bucket. Alex, you 'n' me will rummage through that tallow
again."
Amy pointed to herself. "What about me, Miz Drum-mond?"
"Oh, I'd forgot you, m'dear. Stay 'ere with Ben an' help with the candlesticks. Keep an eye on him in case he
tries to faint again. Come on, you lot, stir your stumps!"
The Labrador threw Ben a thought. "The lady forgot about me. I'll stay here, too, with you and Amy. Be with
you in a moment, I'll just get a quick drink from my pal Delia's water bucket."
38.
FIFTY MILES SOUTH OF THE POLICE STAtion a small boy was trudging along a country lane toward the
farmhouse where he lived. The boy, a small, sturdy lad of about eight years, stopped to witness a strange sight.
Weaving from side to side and honking furiously, a machine was coming toward him. It was one of the new
petroleum-driven motorcars, a bright green one, with its leather hood down. He scurried to one side, hugging the
hedge as it rumbled past him and ground to a halt with a screeching sound. There were four men in the car. One of
them, wearing a long duster coat, gauntlets, and a cap, with the peak backward, climbed from the vehicle. He had on a
pair of light-brown-lensed goggles, which he pushed up onto his cap as he approached the boy. The lad shrank further
into the hedge as the man stooped and thrust his face forward.
"G'mornin', sonny boy. Is that there Chapelvale?" The man pointed to a church spire in the distance. The boy
shook his head.
The man scratched his coarse, stubbled chin. "Oh, I see, well, wot's that place called?" The boy spoke a single
word. "Church." This seemed to exasperate the man. "I know it's a church, sonny, but wot's the name of the village
where the church is, eh?"
The boy considered this for a moment. "It's not Chapelvale."
Another man emerged from the car, dressed in a suit of very loud green checkered material. He sported a
pencil-thin mustache, his hair was plastered into a center part. He shouted out to his companion, "Come on, Gripper,
the kid don't know nothin'. Let's get goin'!"
Gripper was about to shout back an answer, when a farmer appeared at the gateway of a farmhouse further up
the road. He was a giant of a man, his sleeves rolled up to expose two brawny arms. Slamming the gate open, he
marched aggressively up to the one called Gripper, whom he pointed a thick finger at.
"Hoi you! Gerraway from my lad an' leave 'im be!"
Gripper backed off hurriedly. "I don't mean the kid no 'arm. I was only askin' him where Chapelvale is."
The boy ran to his father and clung to his leg. The man ruffled his son's hair as he replied, "Chapelvale. 'Ow's
Georgy supposed to know, eh, 'e's only a child!"
Gripper tried a friendly smile, it looked more like a leer. "Then p'raps you can tell me where Chapelvale is, eh,
mate?"
The farmer did not like strangers. His big fists clenched. "No I can't, an' I'm not your mate. Now, get on your
way, quick!"
Gripper drew himself up in a dignified manner and strode back to the motorcar, which was still running. He
shouted back, "Stoopid big lump. Bet you'd 'ave trouble findin' your own be'ind with both hands!"
The fanner picked up a stone from the roadside. Gripper shoved his loudly garbed associate into the vehicle,
leapt in after him, and accelerated off down the lane.
Gripper was the driver. The flashy one in the front with him was, aptly enough, named Flash. The two backseats
were occupied by Chunk, a massive, unintelligent specimen who wore a suit three sizes too small and a pearl-grey
bowler hat perched on his shaven skull; and Chaz, a small, weaselly type, dressed in a frock-tailed morning coat and
pin-striped pants, a size too large. In lieu of a shirt or collar he wore a knotted scarf of once-white silk. He was
perpetually sniggering at anything and everything, which was what he did as soon as they were out of stone-throwing
range.
"Heeheehee, we're lost! I told yer, didn't I, Gripp. Hee-hee!"
Gripper clenched the brass steering wheel tight, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Shut yer gob, Chaz,
or I'll belt yer one 'round the 'ead, on me oath I will!"
But Chaz would not be silenced. "Why go onna train, 'e sez, let's keep the money an' steal a motorcar. Leave it
to me, 'e sez, I'll find Chapelvale. When're yer gonna find it, Gripp, eh? Next week? Heeheehee!"
They all lurched to one side as Gripper threw the car around a hairpin bend, bumping off the high-banked grass
verge. He snorted aloud in frustration. "Shut 'im up, willyer, Chunk; give the flamin' nuisance a smack fer me!"
Chunk took Chaz's scrawny neck in one huge paw, rendering him helpless. "Where d'ya want me to biff 'im,
Gripp? In the eye?"
Chaz pleaded. "No no, 'e doesn't want yer to biff me anywhere!"
"Ho yes I do!" replied Gripper. "Biff 'im where y'like, Chunk."
In biffing people, Chunk always preferred the nose. Chaz had quite a big beaky nose, so Chunk biffed it
enthusiastically. Chaz squealed and fell back in the seat, his nose bleeding profusely. He held the dirty silk scarf to it.
"Wot didjer do dat for? Be dose is broke!"
Chunk felt no sympathy or enmity toward Chaz. "I did it 'cos Gripper tole me to. Ain't that right, Gripp?"
Gripper carried on watching the road. "Right, Chunk, now per'aps 'e'll stop makin' smart remarks!"
Flash had noticed a milestone. "It said arf a mile to Church 'aven on that stone, Gripp. Must be wot that place is
called."
They drove into the village of Church Haven and stopped outside the post office. Gripper went in to ask for
directions; a kindly, old, silver-haired postmistress came out onto the street with him to explain things.
"Chapelvale, sir, my goodness but you are a long, long way from there. Where have you come from?"
Gripper was losing patience, but trying to stay polite. "London, marm, but which way is it to Chapelvale?"
The old lady shook her head wistfully. "I've never been to London, but I hear 'tis a wonderful city, St. Paul's
Cathedral, Buckingham Palace. It must be so nice to live there. Do you ever see Her Majesty Queen Victoria?"
Flash leaned out of the car. "Lots o' times, me ole darlin'. We seen 'er only last week, didn't we, Gripp."
Gripper shot him a murderous glance, but he carried on. "Oh yes, we're special messengers for 'Er Majesty the
Queen. That's why we got ter get to Chapelvale. So could you tell us the way?"
The postmistress was only too willing to help royal couriers. "Most certainly—head straight down the High
Street and take a left turn at the bottom, where you can't go any further. Then you'll be on the road to Great Sutley.
You'll pass through there and on to L
ittle Sutley, then Sutley-on-the-Marsh. Take a right there and make for
Vetchley-on-the-Wold. Now, when you get there ..."
Gripper got into the motorcar. "That'll do, we'll find it from there. Thanks, marm!"
She caught sight of Chaz in the backseat. "Oh dear, your poor friend's nose is bleeding. Has he been injured?"
Gripper pulled the motoring goggles over his eyes. "No, he's all right, marm. Sometimes 'e gets the nosebleeds
with motorin', speed of the car, y'know. We been traveling at twenny-five miles an hour most o' the way."
She gasped at the thought. "Twenty-five miles an hour! It's a wonder you aren't all dead. Wait there, I'll get him
a clean, damp cloth and a drink of water."
She scurried inside the post office. Gripper drove off with Chunk complaining from the backseat. "Why didn't
ya wait, Gripp? I coulda done wiv a drink o' water."
They clattered off down the cobbled High Street in a cloud of exhaust fumes, arguing among themselves.
"Look, never mind the water, we can't 'ang about all day!"
"I'b bleedin' to death through be dose, you should ob waited an' let 'er see t'me."
"Shut yer mouf, Chaz, or I'll stop the motor an' give you annuder one. Where did she say to turn left, Flash,
Little Sut-ford on the Wold or Vetchley in the Marsh?"
"I dunno, I thought you was lissenin' to 'er. Pass us one o' those sandwiches yore missus made, willyer, Chunk."
"She made those sangwiches fer me, not youse lot. Any'ow, I et am all. That's why I'm firsty for a drink o'
water."
"Big fat greedy pig, didyer 'ear that, Gripp. 'E's scoffed all the sandwiches, the rotten ole lard barrel!"
"Sharrap, the three of youse! I'm tryin' t'think. Sharrap!"
"Are you finkin' why there's a fence acrosst the road, Gripp? Well, that's 'cos the lady tole yer to turn left an'
you turned right. You'd better back the motor up."
"No I won't, 'cos I don't know 'ow to. You lot'll 'ave to get out an' push it backward. Cummon, out, youse three!"
Whilst the others were searching, Ben and Amy took one of the candlesticks and began examining it minutely
from sconce to base. They scanned the intricate engraving for any trace of hidden writing. Ned nudged the other
candlestick with his nose. It fell over and rolled down the grass bank of the path-side. The Labrador chased after it
and grabbed it in his mouth by the top. Eileen was engrossed in searching through the lumps of tallow. Alex had lost
interest, having already searched through it once, when he spotted the dog with the candlestick in his mouth.
Scrambling forward, the younger boy grabbed the base of it and tried to tug it from Ned's jaws.
"Where are you going with that? Naughty fellow, give it to me. Let go, Ned!"
But the big Labrador was not about to let go. He dug his front paws into the grass and tugged back, sending a
thought out to Ben. "Huh, the nerve of the lad. Tell him to let go, mate. He's supposed to be messing with the
tallow—these candlesticks are our job. Tell him, Ben!"
The boy turned his head to see what was going on, and saw Alex and Ned tugging the candlestick between them.
All at once there was a pop, like a cork being pulled from a bottle, and the two fell back upon their bottoms—each
holding a half of the candlestick!
Everybody came running at the sound of Ben and Alex shouting. "We've found it! We've found it!"
The big dog allowed Ben to relieve him of the top half, passing a highly indignant thought to his master.
"You've found it? Well, of all the nerve, it was me who found it!"
The boy hugged the Labrador's neck, returning the thought. "Of course you did, pal. When we get home, I'll
make sure Winnie rewards you with the best feed you've ever had!"
The dog licked Ben's face. "Now you're talking, shipmate!"
Mr. Mackay peered into the hollow cylinder of Ben's half-candlestick. "Ah yes, yes, yes, a small scroll of paper.
I could get at it, if I had a pair of tweezers."
"Let me try, please." The lawyer handed the candlestick over to Amy. Her slim fingers and strong fingernails
soon extracted the scroll. It was very thin, delicate paper, almost transparent. She gave it to the old seaman, who
unrolled it carefully as the others looked on with bated breath.
Will leaned over Jon's shoulder and looked. His sigh of frustration was audible. "No message, just a lot of little
lines."
Later, Sergeant Patterson made more tea for them as Mr. Braithwaite gazed at the thin paper lying on the
charge-office desk. "Hmm, lines and a few dots. Spaced out in, er, rather a, er, peculiar way. Hmmm."
The lines and the dots seemed to have no connection.
The sergeant glanced at them as he passed out mugs of tea. "Very peculiar, ah'd say, what d'ye think, laddie?"
Ben stood with his eyes riveted on the paper. "I'd say we've got a real mystery on our hands this time!"
39.
WILL'S MA TOOK LITTLE WILLUM TO VISIT Mrs. Winn that afternoon. Not having heard from Ben or the
others, the anxious older woman was delighted to see them. They had tea and hot, buttered crumpets. Willum liked a
dab of strawberry jam on his crumpet and sat on the carpet, the picture of happiness, his cheeks smeared with jam.
Catching sight of Horatio, he crawled off in hot pursuit, attempting to get his sticky fingers on the cat, calling, "Fussy
ca', fussy ca'!" Within minutes they had another visitor come calling. Hetty Sullivan, the Smitherses' maidservant. Mrs.
Winn hastened to top off the teapot and toast more crumpets. Hetty was a good sort—she rescued Horatio from little
Willum's attentions and put him out in the garden.
Willum protested aloud as she cleaned him up with a wet flannel and towel. "Gaaah, wanna fussy ca'!"
The three ladies had just settled down to their tea, when Delia came clopping up the lane. Mrs. Winn threw up
her arms in mock despair. "Merciful heavens, it looks like open house here today—there's a whole crew arriving!"
The servant girl could see the old lady was secretly pleased to have so many callers on a Thursday afternoon.
"You stay there, Miz Winn, I'll see to them."
Mrs. Winn made a move to rise, then sat back down. "Thank you, Hetty, I'm afraid we've eaten all the crumpets.
There's a Dundee cake and a currant loaf in the larder. Oh, and you'd best get the big teapot out!"
Wiping their muddy boots on the doormat, Ben and his friends trooped in. The open-faced farmer's wife swept
little Willum up and hugged him. "You rascal, fancy findin' you 'ere!"
The older woman's cheeks were flushed to a rosy hue as she took Ben's hand. "So many people, lad! Well, did
you have any luck?"
The boy winked at Amy. "Show her."
With a flourish the girl placed both of the candlesticks on the table. "St. Matthew's treasure, the light bearers
'neath the ground!"
Mrs. Winn held up her hands, as if afraid to touch them. "Oh my! Oh goodness! They're absolutely beautiful!"
Mr. Braithwaite picked one up and rubbed a fingermark off with his sleeve. "Er, beautiful indeed, marm.
Byzantine, er, er, workmanship, hmmm, a long-lost art, yes, er, very good!"
Mr. Mackay folded both hands beneath the tails of his coat and paced around before holding forth.
"Unfortunately, madam, we have as yet been unable to find the deeds to your land. In my estimation we now have the
three pieces sent up by Bishop Peveril from the court of King Edward the Third: a chalice, a cross, and a set of
candlesticks to grace the altar of the church, which later became the almshouse. But it is the deeds that are vital to our
cause. And we do not have them! Each piece has given us a clue, leading to the next one, from Luke to John and on to
Matthew. But I regret to inform you that the message we found with the candlesticks is very obscure and far, far too
cryptic for us to search further. Rather a shame, seeing as the deadline is tomorrow morning." He rolled out his
prediction: "If the deeds are not found by then, Chapelvale will be in the hands of the developers!"
The old woman put down her teacup. "Where did you find the candlesticks?"
The younger boy answered. "Under the old police station yard. Constable Judmann wasn't going to let us in, but
Sergeant Patterson allowed us to dig there. He even helped."
The Smitherses' Hetty trundled in with a trolley, laden with tea and cakes. "Sergeant Patterson, 'e's a nice bobby,
where's 'e now?"
Alex took a wedge of Dundee cake. "Back up at the station. There was a message coming in on the button
machine...."
"You mean the telegraph," his sister corrected him. "The sergeant said he'd follow us up here after the message
had arrived."
Will's ma was growing impatient. "Well, where's this obscure clue? Don't we get to see it?"
"Here 'tis, Sarah, see what you make of it." The ship's carpenter passed her the thin paper sheet.
Screwing her eyes up, Ma inspected it briefly before passing it to Mrs. Winn. "Lot o' lines an' dots, don't mean a
thing t'me!" she said as a knock at the door announced the sergeant's arrival.
As Hetty served the young policeman tea, he took the telegram from his tunic pocket. "Ah was on mah way tae
check on Judmann at the railway station, when auld Mr. Talbot called me intae the post office an' gave me this
telegraph, from the postmistress at Church Haven, over fifty miles from here. It says that early this mornin', four o'
Queen Victoria's couriers passed through there. Seems the poor laddies were lost. Anyway, they drove off in a
motorcar, without waitin' tae hear proper directions. Sounds odd tae me."
"D'you think it'll have anything to do with the village bein' turned into a quarry an' cement factory, Sergeant?"
Patterson folded the telegraph form, pondering the dairyman's question.
"Och, ah dinna think the Queen's even heard of our village. Tae mah knowledge, we've never had royal couriers
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