Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,32

he stole our treasure. Not a trustworthy individual, I fear.”

“No, although now I feel completely justified in getting Applecross and his cronies on the hunt, as well. We have a year, a name and some idea of what might have been buried, which is enough to spark a hunt, without mentioning the Byrd family involvement.”

“I appreciate your discretion.”

As they drove back to the house a different way from whence they’d come, Jonty worried that he’d not made the most of getting Henry alone, but the opportunity to turn the conversation naturally to Lord Michael’s death hadn’t arisen.

“This is where my father was thrown from his mount,” Henry said suddenly, causing Jonty to apply the brakes. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to startle you.”

“And I didn’t intend to brake so hard.” Jonty wasn’t going to admit that the reaction had been in part because Henry’s words had coincided with his thoughts. “Nasty spot, though. Makes me think of the sort of place where footpads might have loitered in days of yore.”

“Indeed.” The cue wasn’t picked up.

“I’ve lost all sense of where I am. Where’s Greysands from here?”

Henry pointed at an old hedge line running along the road. “That’s the edge of the estate and the house is perhaps a mile away as the crow flies. A horseman would take the bridle path up on the left, by the lodge.”

“Ah, I see. So, Saggers’s house would be…”

“Down the lane we just passed on the right. Would you care to take a detour?”

“Yes, why not? For the sake of getting the whole picture.” As Jonty deftly executed a manoeuvre to turn his car through one hundred and eighty degrees—and rued the fact Orlando wasn’t there to see it—he said, “I suppose that he’s one person we can eliminate from having gone and dug up the treasure. Being housebound.”

“Yes, although a man can always employ an accomplice. We turn the other side of the large oak.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, he must have known about the hoard. I can’t imagine my father not telling him that evening, as the old boy was rather excited about it.”

“Am I too hasty in eliminating Saggers, then? He would have had plenty of potential accomplices, I’m guessing, given that he must have had a retinue of people to look after him.” Jonty slowed, to take a blind corner. A lane much better taken on horseback than in an automobile. “But he’d not have known the exact location so the point is probably moot.”

They drove on in silence for a mile, until Henry asked Jonty to slow. A fine Georgian property, set back slightly from the road, came into view. Five Oaks, Henry had called it and the trees in question stood proudly in a row either side of the house.

“Does the family still live here?” Jonty asked, as they crawled past.

“Saggers’s godson, a chap called Fitznagel, the man himself having no children to inherit and his sister not wanting the place. Not that we’ve seen much of Fitznagel, although his wife is involved with local good works.”

“He doesn’t take much part in the county events?”

“Not that so much that as him rarely being here to take part. As I understand it, his family moved abroad when he was perhaps six or seven, not long after the estate went through probate and the house was rented out on his behalf. He’s a career naval officer and when he’s on shore leave prefers his own hearth.”

As they’d driven past, Jonty had spotted a male face at one of the windows, eyeing them suspiciously, although the latter observation might simply have been his imagination. He asked for directions so that, like the wise men of old, they could return home a different way.

“Why didn’t Saggers’s sister want the house? It’s a fine-looking property.”

“It is, but I believe she’d had enough of it. A fiercely independent sort, was Miss Saggers. Came here to care for her brother after his accident and was said to have resented being tied to the place. She moved a couple of years later, when all the probate and such was settled, I guess.” Henry, who appeared to be a much more comfortable passenger than Orlando, hummed to himself as they drove along before saying, “Your talk of footpads makes me think this might be a better mode of transport than horseback. One hears about such terrible things happening and wonders what the world is coming to.”

Had the cue been taken up at last? “Modern day highwayman?”

“Not that I’ve encountered, although