Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,33

there are plenty who might take up the profession, given the opportunity. Mary’s brother, the one I told you about yesterday, was cut out for devilry. Jude, his name was. Like Judas Iscariot, perhaps.”

“No wonder your family banned him from the house.” Jonty decided not to go down the Judas line, as it would distract them. He had his own theory that the man had been horribly libelled by those who’d written up his tale. Would this Jude prove the same? “When did that happen, by the way? My suspicious mind always naturally tends to such questions.”

Henry chuckled. “I can imagine, given your experience, you become suspicious of any and everything. It was perhaps a few weeks before my father died but he turned up again afterwards.”

Interesting that he’d fixed the event by his father’s death, rather than the discovery of the treasure trove, the unspoken mystery rather than the official one. “Such a horribly eventful year or two for you all. Not a time it would be easy to forget.”

“No, indeed, Jonty. I confess I feel the shadow of it over me still.”

The rest of the journey was completed in silence.

***

Between a good, hot bath—parts of the road had been unwarrantedly dusty—and going down for a pre-prandial glass of something delicious, Jonty managed to catch Orlando to exchange their news. It could only be the briefest of discussions, dinner being slightly earlier that evening as the vicar and his wife had been invited and bridge would be featuring afterwards.

“I wonder if Beatrice heard of your fondness for the game and arranged a rubber or two in your honour?” Jonty asked, as he entered his lover’s bedroom.

“Hmm.” Orlando seemed to be concentrating all his efforts on a stubborn back stud.

“Need a hand with that? I’ll attach the blighter while you tell me what Beatrice had to say for herself.”

By the time Orlando had finished his account, he was dressed all bar his jacket and was attending to his hair, which appeared to be as unruly as the collar stud. A sight to be admired at leisure in any other circumstances.

“I wish I’d known about Mary going to work for the family Herron. I met the person she would have had care of had she still been in the nursery. Herron’s nephew.” Jonty briefly covered his meeting with Atherton and the rather peculiar car journey to Saggers’s old house.

“I think I may have some further light to shed on that, but it’s not a matter for rushing.” Orlando sighed. “So much to discuss and no time now to do it justice. Nor can we really talk about it over dinner. Can you restrain your curiosity until later?”

“I’ll try my best. The evening should conclude earlier than last night, given that the vicar will be so busy tomorrow and we can plead we need to be excused sitting up late, as we need to compare notes.”

“Excellent all round.” Orlando smoothed one final lock into place.

“You look good enough to eat, my lamb. A pleasure which will have to be deferred for even longer than discussing the case.”

***

Dinner proved to be excellent again and both the vicar and his wife turned out to be entertaining company. Bridge was hard fought but fair, the partnerships being regularly changed so that everyone could have a turn, which was a blessed relief, as Orlando had anticipated being paired with his hostess for all the games. Still, even the attractions of a hand of cards with accomplished players paled into insignificance compared to the allure of an investigation. Especially as he now had a strategy for the awkward business of the great secret.

At last the clerical guests set off for the vicarage and the academic ones could escape for a council of war.

“Have they turned up an address for Mary the maid? Who, incidentally, sounds like someone out of a bawdy medieval ballad.” Jonty asked as they passed through the door of his room. “She could have known where Edward was rooting about, told her mistress and she passed the word to Herron. He digs the treasure up, sells it and we have a nice secure trail to his mystery nest egg.”

“A viable trail, although I’d hardly call it secure or proven except in your head.” Orlando took a chair by the fire. “I’ve not yet been given any details for Mary, although the old gardener—the one with the son who got mistaken for Edward—apparently lives in Madingley, so would be easy enough to visit. It would