Page 34 of The Trick of the Treasure
Garrick’s lips curled, almost into a snarl.
“Don’t say what you’ll regret,” Solomon snapped, giving Constance a rare glimpse into the icy authority that must have either trained or dismissed any number of unruly employees. “We already know someone opened the door after you locked it. Our aim is to find out if they locked it again behind them.”
In anyone else, Constance would have called it a sag. Garrick was much too stiff to do so, but she was sure he saggedinwardlywith relief.
“I found it locked,” he said. “But the key was still in the keyhole and the bolts had not been shot.”
And he hadn’t said so before because he was afraid he might have had an aberration and forgotten to do it as he always did.
“May I see that key?” Constance asked.
Without a word, Garrick led them back through the kitchen to the garden door and took the large key from the hook on the wall. He offered it to Solomon, who merely passed it to Constance. She opened the door to let in the daylight and inspected the business end of the key for signs of tampering.
Finding none, she shook her head and politely returned the key to Garrick. “Thank you. That will be all for now. We’ll show ourselves out the way we came in.”
“Unlikely, then,” Solomon murmured as they returned to the carriage.
“But not impossible. Let’s see what we can discover from your Mr. Terrance.”
*
Mark Terrance wasdusting his cabinets and their precious contents. The maids were not allowed to clean those, and he prided himself on keeping them as beautiful as they had always been. No fine dust dulled the rims of his porcelain; no tarnish touched his silver. His jewels glittered and his gold gleamed.
Some of his fellow collectors were stunned that he chose to do all this tedious work himself when he had a house full of servants, but in truth he was at his happiest among his treasures, pottering, cleaning, arranging.
It gave him plenty of time to think. And brood, of course, though he had resolved to do less of that. It would be a difficult resolution to keep now that the wretched Barnabas Lloyd was home with the treasure everyone had been so sure was mere legend.
He replaced the exquisite porcelain bowl in its rightful place at the center of its glass cabinet and was just closing it when a knock sounded at the room door. He growled something that was clearly taken as permission, for the maid came in bearing a small silver tray.
“I said I was not to be disturbed, Becky,” he said irritably.
“No, sir, but the callers at the door asked for you, sir, not the mistress, so I said I’d take in their card.”
Terrance grunted and snatched the card off her tray.
Silver and Grey,it proclaimed, and in smaller script beneath,Inquiries, C. Silver & S. Grey, with a respectable business address.
Intrigued in spite of himself, he said, “Show them in here, Becky. I’ll ring if I want anything else.” After all, one did not drink tea with the representatives of firms in one’s own home.
A moment later, his beautiful room was invaded by two dazzling people. The woman was exquisite—young, not very tall, but extremely well formed. Beneath her fashionable hat, her hairshone red and gold like a sunrise, and her features, although perhaps not perfect in themselves, were somehow perfect together. Her eyes were brilliant, and her mouth…
Hastily, he transferred his attention to his male visitor, a tall, dark, slender man with short black hair and skin made bronze either by hotter sun’s than England’s or by birth. He was handsome enough, but it was more than his looks that seized the attention. He had an air of authority, of presence. And although Terrance hadn’t really intended it, he bowed in civil response to his visitors’ courtesies.
Fashion was lost on him, but he had the impression that both were extremely well—and expensively—dressed.
“I’m Terrance,” he said abruptly. “How can I help you?”
“Grey,” the man said, inclining his head. “This is Mrs. Silver. Our apologies for intruding, but we are inquiring about certain valuable items that were stolen recently. As a fellow collector of antiquities, you might well hear whispers of unusual items for sale or perhaps even recently acquired.”
“Not much of a man for whispers,” Terrance said, staring at him with some hauteur. “I have reputable dealers who inform me. And occasionally, I tour the curio shops and pawnshops on the off chance of discoveries. What exactly are you looking for?”
The lady, Mrs. Silver, drew from her large, embroidered bag several sheets of paper, which she presented to him.
“Please, sit down,” he said, although he hadn’t meant to offer that courtesy either.
While they ensconced themselves in the chairs by the fire, from where he usually liked to sit and read and admire his collection, he glanced at the extensive list of items. There was not much in the way of porcelain, but a lot of solid gold items, jewelry, coins, carved statuettes of several eras and materials.
Terrance felt a surge of excitement.
