The Camelot Caper (21 page)

“The violence is my strongest point,” David said, in a voice which had become slightly husky. “Your cousin isn't the man to risk it unless the rewards are great.”

“But David—supposing I had gotten to Grandfather before he died. Supposing he told me about the treasure. What could I have done? It would be my version—of an old man's delirium—against my aunt and cousin, both respected members of society. It doesn't make sense.”

“Don't forget Mr. Pendennis. A story such as you could tell might arouse his suspicions, together with the other evidence.”

“All they need to do is wait till he dies; he's old. If the treasure belongs to him…”

“Ah, but it doesn't.” David chortled triumphantly. “There's the rub, Jess—the missing piece of the puzzle. The treasure doesn't belong to Mr. Pendennis.”

“But—if it was found on his property—”

“Then it is treasure trove. Do you know what that means?”

“Well—no. I guess I don't. Or is that when the finder gets half?”

“Some places, yes. Not here. Treasure trove belongs to the Crown.”

“Oh. Then what difference does it make whether it was found here or on Mr. Pendennis's land? The Crown gets it anyhow.”

“Wait, let me finish. I'm proud of this. Mind you, I haven't checked it out with a barrister, but I think I'm right. Treasure trove is defined as objects found
in the ground
which cannot be legally claimed as the property of any living person. If you dug up your grandfather's watch, it wouldn't be treasure trove; you'd be his legitimate heir, even if he left no will. But this treasure, if we're correct about it, dates from the fifth or sixth century. No one living can prove descent from the original owner—except, possibly, an old Cornish family which has records going back centuries in the same place.”

David's voice, flat with suppressed excite
ment, seemed to light the blackness with a burst of illumination, like sunlight flashing off a heap of piled jewels. Jess gasped.

“You don't think that's what John is planning!”

“Jess, I don't care for your elegant cousin, but he and I are alike in more ways than I care to admit. That is precisely the kind of magnificent mad plot he would think up. It's straight out of an old Alec Guinness film; and I spotted it because I've got that kind of mind myself.”

“Then his digging, out in the pasture—”

“He's building Camelot.” David burst out laughing. “Damn the fellow, I can't help admiring him. Even that absurd rhyme—remember it? ‘A king and a crown and a sword'—something like that—‘and a son for me.' ‘Me' being the local Cornish lady Arthur befriended. Five will get you ten that John plans to produce that doggerel, carefully forged onto a crabbed old parchment, as part of the claim. Out there in the pasture he's building a site into which to plant his treasure—and if I know him, he'll plant it somewhere
above
ground, in case the law can be literally interpreted. Objects found above ground are flotsam and jetsam, or missing property, or something; finders keepers, in other words.”

“But it's—it's crazy! It can't work.”

“I'm not at all sure it can't. Life is crazy too, you know, and the law is the craziest thing of all. It would certainly be worth a try. Peddling stolen valuables, especially antiques, on the black market, means going to a fence, an illegal dealer. You'd lose half the value, maybe more, that way.”

“How do you know so much about all this?”

“Thrillers. I write 'em, remember? In my next before last,
The Carruthers Caper
, I had a jewel robbery. The heroine—”

“Never mind her. This is—this is the wildest—”

“And that's not all,” David went on gleefully. “The scheme is capable of infinite variations. I can think of three beauties myself, just offhand.”

“Save them for Cousin John,” Jess said; she was glad to find that her voice was steady. “I hear him coming.”

David's hand tightened over hers, and they sat staring through the darkness towards the invisible door, from which came the now-familiar rattle and clank of bolts being unbolted.

They heard the door open; there was no mistaking the ghastly creak. But they still saw nothing, for the person carried no light. Their hands parted as Jess forced her stiffened muscles to
move. She got to her knees, groping for something she could use as a weapon; she heard David's feeble thrashing among the blankets.

There were cautious sounds near the door; then it creaked a second time. Had the intruder gone, leaving some deadly device inside; or were they now shut into the lightless room with their murderer?

Jess's fumbling hands found the tray, too abruptly, and sent the teapot crashing to the floor. Since silence was no longer necessary, she relieved some of her feeling by swearing, and then snatched at the tray, sending the rest of the crockery to noisy ruin on the floor.

“Wait, wait,” said an alarmed voice from the direction of the doorway. “Must you break all the china?”

A light flashed on, catching Jess with the tray lifted. It jittered nervously from her to David, who was still struggling, half in and half out of bed. As soon as the light left her eyes Jess was able to see fairly well. It was only a flashlight beam.

“Sssh!” Now she made out her cousin's features, contorted in an agony of alarm. “Can't you two shut up? I'm trying to save your lives and you make enough noise to rouse the dead, let alone Freddie.”

“Relax, Jess,” said David. He slumped back against the pillows and mopped his brow. “I think we're all right.”

“I'm not so sure,” John said grimly. He put the flashlight onto the floor, so that its beam shot crazily up to illumine the cobwebby ceiling; enough side light remained to give a dim glow to the scene, and by it Jess saw that he had brought another tray.

“Here, get started on the food. I'm sorry I couldn't get it to you earlier, but it wasn't safe.”

“I could do better with some of that brandy,” David said.

“Not on an empty stomach. You've got to move quickly, and soon. Stop talking and eat.”

David bit into a sandwich, but not with his usual enthusiasm.

“Why must we move?” Jess asked.

“Don't worry, I've got it worked out.” Despite the tenseness of his voice, there was an undertone of satisfaction; it was clear that Cousin John enjoyed working things out, but having just heard a synopsis of one of his schemes, Jess was not impressed with his practicality.

She said so, emphatically.

“You solved it, did you?” John grinned at David. “And I thought I was being so frightfully devious.”

“You were that.” David chewed doggedly. “I'm not at all sure it would have succeeded.”

“Neither am I,” John said cheerfully. “But planning it was half the fun. And what a hoax! It would have made Chatterton look like an amateur.”

“Was it worth it?” Jess asked, through a mouthful of bread and cheese. She was limp with relief, now that rescue had appeared, but the removal of fear left ample room for indignation. “After all the things you did to us…”

“One must define ‘it,'” her cousin said pedantically. “Your first indefinite pronoun refers, one presumes, to the treasure. My dear, it definitely is worth it! Whatever your second ‘it' may mean…Wait until you see the stuff—alas, I forgot. You won't see it, I don't imagine; collectors who acquire objects illegally aren't frightfully keen on admitting that they have them. Ah, well, life does have its disappointments. Don't cavil; you could be—believe me!—far less fortunate.”

His light tone hardened on the last sentence, and Jess choked on a mouthful of food which seemed to have swelled.

“Freddie?” she asked.

Cousin John held out his right hand and shook his head, sadly.

“Just as well we abandoned the digging, I
suppose. My hands were getting so stiff I couldn't play. Freddie? Yes, Freddie is getting a bit out of hand. He never was a conformist; however, if I'd realized how thoroughly non-conformist he has become since our under-graduate days—”

“What was Freddie's subject?” David asked.

“But, my dear fellow!” Cousin John gave him a winning smile. “Archaeology, of course.”

“But that wasn't the only reason why you invited him to join you,” Jess said.

“Well, I needed professional advice after I stumbled across Grandfather's little hoard. I suspected from the first he'd gotten it illegally; he wasn't the man to hide any lights under bushels. Freddie confirmed that there were no proper fifth-century sites where he'd done his digging. And there's no doubt that Freddie does have a certain talent for matters which more fastidious people prefer to ignore.”

“Too bad you didn't study history,” David said dryly. “There are parallel cases which are applicable.”

“You mean like the jolly old Romans inviting the barbarians in to protect them? I assure you, that parallel has occurred to me since. Freddie is really too much.”

“Then it was Freddie's plans for us that made you decide to double-cross him?” David poured himself a generous shot of brandy and tossed it off. “Come, now, John.”

John made a wry face.

“What a vulgar phrase. Double-cross, indeed. Naturally I don't care for murder, particularly the murder of people who are related to me. But I will admit that I've detected an arithmetical gleam in Freddie's eye of late.”

“Arithmetical?”

“You know. Two into one gives one half, but one into one isn't properly division at all, now is it? No; cynical as it may sound, I do not really trust Freddie.”

“All right,” David said. “I'm about as fit to move as I ever will be.”

“Good.” John uncoiled himself from the floor and stood up. “Let me give you a hand. Good God, my dear fellow, it requires two hands, doesn't it? You can't go far in that state. Let me think.”

He whistled softly to himself. Then he said cheerfully, “Right, I've got it. We'll stash you away, my lad, in one of the uninhabited rooms in this wing. Freddie won't look for you; he'll assume you've fled with Jess. Who will dash
along down the road to town and seek out the police.”

Jess, propping David's swaying height on the other side, peered suspiciously at her cousin.

“What about you?”

He beamed at her across David's chest.

“Nice of you to think of me. I do have a little scheme worked out….”

“Oh, gosh,” Jess said weakly.

“Your lack of confidence hurts me. The scheme means making Freddie the sole villain, but he won't mind; he'll have departed by the time you get back with the police. I'll simply explain that he held you hostage and threatened to kill you if I interfered. Tonight I managed to free you, and nobly held the killer at bay while you escaped. Now all you need do is back me up, and—er—one other small favor—”

“Like forgetting about the treasure?”

“That's not much to ask, is it, in return for your lives? It's not as if I were robbing anyone; only the Crown, and though I am, of course, a loyal Tory, I do believe that the Crown has plenty already. And think what I'm giving up for you. We'll have to dispose of the treasure through Freddie's disreputable acquaintances abroad, and I shall lose my shirt that way. I must also abandon my pleasant schemes, including
my plan for turning the old family mansion into a luxury hotel. I'd have called it The Camelot, probably; right on the spot, ladies and gents, next to King Arthur's veritable tomb! I'm ready to lose all this, for your sake, plus risking my own neck. If Freddie ever found out—”

This time the door did not creak, or, if it did, the creaking was drowned in the greater sound as the whole heavy object crashed, shivering, back against the wall. Jess didn't need to look. She knew who was standing in the doorway.

She had never admired her cousin more. After the first reflexive recoil and guilty gasp, John straightened to his full height and flung out the arm that was not engaged in supporting David.

“‘Lo, where it comes again! I'll cross it, though it blast me…' Freddie, I beg you—keep calm!”

“Calm, is it, you so-and-so,” said Freddie; the word was one Jess had never heard, and it was followed by several more of unfamiliar etymology, all obviously epithets and obviously uncomplimentary. Cousin John winced. In the light of the dim flashlight she could see that he had gone rather pale, but his eyes had a lively glitter.

“Don't act rashly, Freddie,” he said. “I've hidden the loot.”

For a moment Freddie did not react. Then his
foot lifted and the door crashed again, this time back into its frame.

“Where?” he asked.

“You don't really think I'd be simple enough to tell you? I'll split with you, as I promised. We'll have to make a run for it now.”

“There is an alternative,” said Freddie.

“There is always an alternative. Almost always…Look here, old boy, the game is up, why not accept the fact gracefully? It wouldn't have worked out; you can't simply exterminate people; they have friends and relatives who'll be inquiring after them. For our little scheme we required peace and quiet, time, and an absence of curiosity. You can't—”

“We've discussed this before,” said Freddie. The gun remained in position, fixed on the center of Cousin John's pale-blue sweater. “I never cared much for your scheme. The only reason why I let you talk me into it was because we'd have lost such a lost otherwise. Now I'll take the lot.”

“You'll have to find it first,” said Cousin John valiantly.

“That can be arranged.”

Jess decided that the most alarming thing about Freddie was that he was capable of only two emotions—black rage and icy malevolence.
The second of the two was in evidence now.