Merton suddenly realized how serious the situation was. “Let’s go ...!”
Bryson took the lead, and marched through the snow, going straight to the castle.
He could have kicked himself for not having a mobile phone. They could easily have contacted the castle.
He was beginning to feel tired again. And the bottom of his stomach felt heavy.
He was sure that the last time that Inspector Bailey had not been fully convinced that it had been him – even though they had been still carrying out investigations at the village.
None of them had realized that he was roaming the grounds.
The police should have been doing what they had made out they had been going to do – and had men watching the woods as well.
The view of the castle, finally emerging through the trees, was a very welcome sight.
When they approached it, he immediately realized that he would be in the surrounding wood watching the castle, and would be watching them go in. And it would be necessary not to show that they knew of his presence.
He wondered if they could have handled the stranger in the wood, if they had confronted him.
Even though he had strangled his victim, of an elderly servant, he could have a weapon, to make sure that he succeeded with what he was doing.
Bryson started to slow, as they left the trees.
There were no signs of anything, and the crows were not there.
Once they were in the castle, he raced through the corridor, wondering why nobody still ever locked the door, where he had sneaked into the castle.
The others were hardly content with the front door being locked, stopping almost anything entering.
Merton then led them straight to Inspector Bailey, knowing exactly where he would be.
Chapter 32
Escalating Irregularities
The police superintendent had only been in the front hallway for less than five minutes, and already Bryson had learned more of Inspector Bailey than he had learned of him over the whole time that he had known him.
Inspector Bailey was, of course, his best man, and favorite, and put there to handle the job bestowed upon them. If anyone could solve the crime, it was he.
“This means a lot to me,” the Superintendent warned, as if fighting to stay calm – under intense pressure.
Inspector Bailey mechanically pleaded: “As I’ve suggested in my report: this is not a routine case.”
“This was why we chose you to handle it!”
He turned about, like an army officer, and marched through the doorway, without wasting any more time, almost glancing at Bryson.
It had to have been important for him to be visiting the castle, with no other intention than to encourage Inspector Bailey to do his job (even though he might have gained an insight into what sorts of problems he had).
Bryson now believed that he had missed things. It left him with deep feelings that they had hidden important information – only known to them.
Inspector Bailey now appeared overenthusiastic to get to the bottom of the mystery, barely stopping himself – with his mind continuing to delve over and over into what he had encountered – trying recognize some minute fragment – in need of anything that could progress things, and stop him being suppressed.
Why had the case been so important and interesting though? And why did they have such fierce intentions of solving the murder of Molly? Surely they had a murder on their patch every so often.
Yet had something put them in fear of losing their jobs? There had been more than the usual suggestions in the newspapers that the government wanted them to reduce the crime figures dramatically.
Merton wandered out of the dining room, chewing hungrily at the last morsel of his meal. “So what’s happening now?”
“It wasn’t the killer,” Bryson answered firmly, referring in the general direction of Inspector Bailey, further along the hallway – still absorbed in his thoughts – not noticing that he was standing himself, staring at an empty wall.
Bryson now knew that the case was not the only thing that he had troubles trying to solve, and he was sure that he might have an illness, such as cancer.
“What did they do?”
“They surrounded the estate, and followed the prints ... He was caught by their police dogs ...”
“So who was he?”
“They’ve not said.”
Inspector Bailey suddenly became aware of the world about him, and casually strolled in their direction, looking at a form that he had hidden away. He seemingly realized the conclusion to something, or more than likely put it aside for consideration, for another try.
“Who was it?” Mortimer remarked, trying to capture his attention, as he rushed out of the dining room, balancing a glass of wine – not rocking it enough to spill any on the expensive carpet, which seemed to be the only thing that was not ancient.
“Try and guess!” Inspector Bailey moaned, slightly amused at his antics.
“One of the locals ...”
“Your wrong! It was a reporter.”
“We were following a reporter!” Merton gasped, slightly taken aback.
“That explains a great deal,” Bryson uttered, wondering if Inspector Bailey would ever again take their word for anything.
“It would explain why he hid,” Mortimer explained. “And why he never crossed over where we had walked through the wood.”
“He had his car parked along the road,” Inspector Bailey continued, “and he walked straight through ... to the trees over there – where we caught him watching the castle.”
“Why would a reporter go to such lengths to photograph here?” Bryson instantly moaned, not understanding the logic behind it – mostly confused about why he had not even imagined it. “The man could have found more driving in here ... At the most, he would only have been refused an interview!”
“The snow blocked the road ... And from what I gather the young man went for a walk from there – to here. Incidentally, thinking that it was better to photograph here from the wood. Is that clear?”
Bryson gave a reluctant nod, giving Inspector Bailey an opportunity to move away to somewhere.
He had expected them to be defensive, and not as gullible, with high alertness, questioning everything.
Merton and Mortimer headed back into the dining room, aroused by the scents of soup, and the servants taking in more food for them, leaving him standing in the hall. And he just followed them.
“Are you not having anything?” Merton asked, between sips of soup. “There’s a plate over there.”
Of course, it was a good idea to eat as much nutritious substances as possible; he more than likely would not acquire a chance later. The events had absorbed a large chunk of his precious time. None of them, as far as he was concerned, had properly considered the words on the tomb.
The servants were cleaning up, and, from the outer noise, the kitchen was receiving a final clean. Their antics were now amusing – they sounded as though they were expecting them to provide another body for them to deal with, and that the place should at least be clean to a high standard.
There were suggestions that the recent events were to appear on the news.
He could just imagine them spending the day occasionally taking looks for bodies.
They could even be suspecting them – they had more motivation than anyone else did – they were trying to acquire the money. They could be keeping silent, believing that the killer would be the one who would be their future employer. He could not imagine working there as a servant for a strangler of a servant.
Chapter 33
Deadly Quest
A rhythmical patter of weak planks, clattering under their feet, echoed amidst the corridor – reflecting off the thick stone walls.
Bryson and Merton rhythmically copied Mortimer’s steps.
Even though the rooms about them were dark, he was sure that they had no damage done to them, and that the others had not been there. It w
as more than likely that they just did not believe that there was anything there.
His thoughts returned to the recent events, and he wondered why they had not suspected a reporter. Did they judge people by their jobs so much that they could not imagine it being one?
He started to recall the main reason for them having believed that it had been the killer. Originally, he had believed that it had been him, when they had followed him through the wood, because of his footprints being similar to the prints of the person who had been at the castle.
They could have been very much mistaken, and he might have been so cool due to his cover ...
He would have experience of the police – how they work – and what he could get away with, being a reporter. He could have been ready to make out that he had been investigating the crime.
Yet, he could see their point, there was no real evidence that it was him, and what sort of reporter did something like that. He could easily be an inexperienced one, working for a relatively unknown newspaper – desperate to give an impression ...
The facts sank in – reporters did not do such things, as they would have little reason to do so.
They moved straight to the library – wherever it was – in the corridor (darkened by the early winter nightfall). The light switches were now too distant, to make any sense of using.
He would have expected the whole corridor to have switches along it, which was the most logical idea.
He would continue his search of the books, and trying to find any clues, especially anything to do with the words that they had seen on the tomb.
The library did not have any indications that anyone had been there since they had left.
If Robert had been there, there would probably have been signs of it.
“It would be a good idea to install closed-circuit cameras about this place,” Merton sighed, relaxing into his seat, almost fully relaxed for the first time since their hike. “Think of what they could capture from the outer walls ...”
“That’s an idea!” Bryson uttered, thinking of it.
It would be a good idea for them as well, as they could search through the tapes for any unnatural disturbances.
Bryson went to the window, even though it was dark.
The outside was more menacing that ever, especially with it being on the ground level – where someone could sneak about, at the window, at its hidden regions.
His awareness of danger was high, especially with the amount danger that they had confronted. What was stopping something from the wood smashing in through the window.
If it had happened before, they would not necessarily know of it. It could easily have happened, and the residents put it down to being something else. People said very little about the castle.
The people who had once lived there might have avoided the lower rooms at night. However, the lights might deter any outer occurrences.
What a good idea it would have been if they had installed cameras.
And they only needed a few of them to cover the entrances, and perhaps some of the wood – making it impossible to enter without being filmed.
The snow glowed, in lunar light, from the moon somewhere overhead. While its distorted shapes reflected on windscreens, further out.
The wood illuminated, showing its deadness.
Yet would closed-circuit television do much? Accept deter anyone from watching.
But an obscure view of something would be worth acquiring.
Blackness edged against the wood – from thick clouds stretching across the sky – like a thick black curtain.
Bryson strained his eyes, trying to see what he could.
The coldness coming through the window relaxed him, but made him shiver.
A gust blew up the snow from the ground, below the ledge. And he turned, to protect his throat, from a sudden draft from the edge of the window.
He adjusted his clothing, and moved back to where he had been sitting.
He dropped a book onto the table, to look at its tattered cover.
Now it was as if they were there because of their complete lack of information – about anything vaguely related with their present interests.
Had Sir Richard for some reason, having time to spare, made sure that they did not find anything at the castle – rigorously sifting through it – expelling all with slightest suggestion of an answer.
Mortimer spotted his weary facial expressions, and remaining restlessness. “We should try to find out something. And we’ve not properly considered what the words on the tomb mean.”
Mortimer removed his bit of paper, and he stretched it over the table, taking any creases out of it, making it flat and readable. Then he pushed it over to him, and he took it from him. But he saw that he had badly scribbled it, perhaps due to the dark vault.
Nothing sprang to mind ... It had to be a riddle, which he had kept imaging it as, and a message to someone.
Merton sat staring over at it. “It might not be referring to people at all!” he remarked.
“What would it be referring to then?” he answered swiftly, seeking facts.
“Spirits of the dead!” he anxiously uttered, in a strange tone, instantly grasping his attention.
“That could be so ...” Mortimer continued, with a serious professional expression – thinking deeply, trying to sort out some way of explaining some belief or something. He resembled a scientist unable to conceive the obvious on a subject.
“Many people in the past were eccentrically superstitious ... They knew little – about how things work. Unlike nowadays! It could suggest spirits that were believed to be here!”
Bryson considered if they were typical psychic scientists or now down-to-earth people doing the job, trying to find the answer to everything (like him), which had tormented them.
Strangely, they had proven that something was at work, but not what it was. There was no definite evidence to hold any reasonable argument!
“The answer to the clue,” Merton spoke loudly, deliberately capturing his attention, “where the last dwell, could be referring to where spirits dwell.”
“Or where they had once dwelled,” Mortimer spoke. “Many things alter – over time – even in a matter of years.”
It was a breathtaking thought: it referred to ghosts!
Yet he, and most other people, never knew Sir Richard’s beliefs on that subject, or if he would have done such a thing.
There had been no suggestion from him that it had been it, or even a joke. But if he had not believed that there had been ghosts at Grovnor Castle, he might have used it as a joke subject – to suggest something.
“Somewhere that they believed that they dwelled!”
Merton moaned, shrugging to them – identifying that the riddle might be just as complicated, even with them knowing it.
“It could not be where the tombs are ...” Bryson moaned, mainly to himself.
“Not necessarily,” Merton swiftly replied. “They might have built it on the site of where they were or had been.”
Mortimer gave a look of surprise, and briskly thought it over, from various viewpoints. “That could explain why they built it a way out there – where it is not even accurately in front of the castle”
“It may be out of the way for a reason!” Bryson continued. “Most people do not have graves anywhere near where they live. They could have chosen it as it had been out of sight – away from everywhere. At a location where they could reach, without too much strain – but still out of the way.
“Finished!” Merton moodily returned, making Bryson give a smile, and want to quit the argument. “But if it’s on ‘sacred ground’ – or a haunted place – it may be what we are looking for.”
“But why would they put a burial site on ‘haunted ground’? Who would have wanted to have it on ground where there were ghosts?”
“Many people might have!” Mortimer replied.
“Do you think that they would have done it so that they would return as ghosts
or something?”
“They could have believed anything! People from the dawn of time have had themselves buried in places that their ancestral spirits have supposedly dwelled. It could have been considered a good idea ...
“And why did your ancestor build this castle here, where the legends mention something occurred?”
“He might have,” he resumed, now realizing that there could be some truth in it. His ancestor could have gone as far as that. Moreover, he might have been buried in a tomb where the last, of something, dwelt.
Chapter 34
Unconventional Research
The sun blazed out, attempting to force life into the wood, which had been pounded out of it. It was as if an unknown element in life hardly existed there.
Perhaps the remains from a forest fire would be enough to rejuvenate it – making it return to its original glory – and pump life into the region. And it could for decades burst out with life, with birds darting about, and creatures such as squirrels hopping from the branches.
Through the trees, far ahead, the unnatural shape of the vault emerged in places, blending into the wood.
Bryson had not noticed that it was possible to see it at that distance. It resembled the other shapes in the dangling branches.
Bryson firmly placed the scientists’ heavy case onto the snow, in front of him, trying to remember what it was. Unsure if it was fragile!
A distant crackle of a branch briefly captured his imagination. What could break them, out here? It had not been as if it had fallen or anything such as that. It had been more like it had broken under pressure, with something heavy going over it.
His eyes scanned snow patches about him, for any traces of clues. Merton, of course, stopped, and shifted back to where Bryson was, as he had done on many occasions with him, throughout their jaunt back into the wood.
There now was something sneaky about Merton now. He was hiding a smile, with a strained face.
The Lost Treasure Map Series Page 10