Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,38
recalled being up at Balliol with a chap of that name, one who wasn’t the sort to be trusted with your last halfpenny but that’s as far as it goes.”
“That sounds like the same chap. If you do hear anything further, please let us know.” Jonty concluded the discussion with some further pleasantries, then he and Orlando repaired to their fireside for a cup of cocoa and a sharing of thoughts.
“Do you suppose my mother will ever treat me like a grown man?” Jonty stirred his drink meditatively. “I often come away from a conversation with her feeling like I’m only seven and a half.”
“I suspect one is always seven and a half to one’s mother. Useful conversation, though. Those dogs.”
“Yes, the Spanets or Bassiels, take your pick. What about them?”
“Could you train them to run under the feet of a horse and unseat the rider?”
Jonty’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that. It would be a way for a housebound man—or his sister—to cause an accident.”
“Yes. And the victim might well have recognised the hounds concerned which is why he…sorry. Nearly said what I shouldn’t have.” Orlando shook himself—keeping the great secret had been easy the last few days, when they’d been predominantly occupied with non-Byrd business, but now he’d have to concentrate.
“No need to apologise. It can’t be easy, knowing whatever it is you know and not being allowed to share it with your one true love. Let’s—” whatever Jonty was going to say was interrupted by a knock on the door. “I’ll get that. It could be Buffalo Bill Cody wanting us to secure Mama’s services on his behalf.”
Jonty returned with a letter in his hand. “Not Mr Cody, but Dr Applecross. Not in person, I hasten to add, or I’d have invited him in. A convenient porter, dropping off a message.”
They read it together, Jonty perched on the arm of Orlando’s chair.
I’m afraid I haven’t been as successful as I wished to be. Herron did have a reputation as not always being able to distinguish between what was his and what was other people’s, if you follow me. As I said, I’ve never met the man, but some of the older chaps in the department had come across him and hadn’t much good to say for him. And that’s not simply because—you’ll excuse me, Dr Coppersmith—he was an Oxford man. Nothing to connect him to this specific trove, though.
“That’s a shame,” Jonty said, taking off his spectacles to clean them.
“Read on, once you’ve got your eyes back.”
However, around the time this all happened, there was a rumour of items being available. Not Roman, though. Iron Age. Coins and jewellery, which matches what you were asking about, but it’s the wrong kind. Not Herron selling it, either, although it’s likely he’d have worked through an agent to preserve his reputation. All this is hearsay—what one of my colleagues heard from someone they know—and amounts to some man showing said friend of a friend some coins and a torc, with the promise of more to come if the buyer was interested.
“What’s a torc?” Orlando asked.
“I’ll look it up.”
Once they’d learned it was a technical term for a sort of necklace, they could get back to the letter.
The chap bought the coins, then said he’d only be interested in the torc if he was given a clear idea of the provenance. The seller promised to return with the details but never did. He got what they call cold feet, I’m guessing, so took his wares elsewhere.
Naturally, I’ve been wondering why his lordship didn’t talk to me about the hoard, but perhaps he wanted an independent eye. Looking back, I now recognise some of the things he said may have been hefty hints, particularly when he was discussing our excavating the spring head. Perhaps that’s why he’s shown so much interest in our work: he hopes we’ll turn the stuff up.
“That may well be so.” Jonty polished his spectacles again, performing what Orlando guessed was simply an aid to thought. “Could Richard have got the age of his artefacts wrong?”
“Possibly. We’ll have to ask Henry. A shame the Greysands establishment doesn’t appear to run to a telephone, so it’ll have to be a letter. I’ll get one in the post tomorrow. Perhaps you could ask Applecross if he heard about any other torcs mysteriously popping up.” Orlando drained his cocoa. “Would there be a Roman brooch and coin in with Iron Age things, though?”
“That I couldn’t tell you. I’ve an