Page 8 of The Trick of the Treasure
“There is a difference,” Solomon pointed out, “between suspicion and knowledge based on evidence. Do you have suspicions or even vague thoughts?”
“No,” Lloyd said, almost between his teeth. “Frankly, I’m flummoxed. And I’m guessing from your questions that so are you.”
Constance bestowed one of her full smiles upon him. He was not immune, judging by the glint rising in his eyes. A man used to following his desires and not to being thwarted. Solomon smoothed his own hackles. Gentlemanly instincts would probably keep Lloyd from pursuing her for now—providing he never learned her more notorious profession.
“On the face of it, the theft appears impossible,” she said. “But clearly it isn’t, for your treasure is gone. We shall not give up just yet. Do you know how the police are approaching the investigation?”
“I believe they are looking for the items themselves and mean to trace them back to the thief.”
Solomon caught his gaze. “You may not like what we find. Or what we stir up while we are looking.”
“I want my treasure back,” Lloyd said steadily.
“Very well. Then I’m afraid we need to speak to your family, to your servants, and to anyone who visited the house on the evening you came home.”
“I told my wife to expect guests for tea. But, to my knowledge, no one visited the house the evening we returned.”
“Then your family is aware you have employed us?” Constance said.
“I shall not keep it secret.” Lloyd took out his pocket watch and glanced at it before rising. “Shall we go in to tea?”
There were three ladies in the drawing room when they entered. The room itself was a little too opulent and busy for Solomon’s taste, having too many frills to curtains and cushions,and the surfaces so packed with pretty things that he was reminded of Constance’s mother’s shop.
One of the three ladies rose immediately from the chair by the fire and walked gracefully toward them. A mature woman with beautiful skin, fashionably gowned, she smiled at her husband’s guests.
“My dear,” Lloyd said fondly, “allow me to introduce Mrs. Silver and her betrothed, Mr. Grey.”
Constance’s gaze flickered with clear surprise, quickly covered by a smile as she took her hostess’s proffered hand. “Mrs. Lloyd, how kind of you to receive us.”
“I am always pleased to meet Barnabas’s friends.” Mrs. Lloyd turned to Solomon. “How do you do, Mr. Grey?”
“Delighted to meet you, ma’am.”
“You must let me introduce you to my sister-in-law, Miss Lloyd.” She indicated a very different lady in appearance—older, wispy, fluttery, and untidy—who dropped her knitting into her lap and then tipped it onto the floor as she rose to greet them with vague, gentle amiability. “How do you do? So pleasant to meet new young people…”
“And my elder daughter,” Mrs. Lloyd proceeded inexorably, “Jemimah.”
The third lady could not have been more than sixteen years old, a remarkably pretty girl with gleaming chestnut hair and vitality leaping from her bright blue eyes. Admiration for Constance’s beauty stood out in her face as she curtseyed to them. She still looked dazed as she turned to Solomon and smiled brilliantly.
“Come and sit by me, Mr. Grey,” said Mrs. Lloyd, taking his arm to give him no choice in the matter. As they sat down on the sofa, a footman wheeled in a large tea trolley, and he and a maid began laying out plates of sandwiches, elegant savories, scones,and cakes. The teapot and matching cups and saucers were laid before Mrs. Lloyd.
“So,” she said brightly, “how do you know my husband? Did you meet him on his travels?”
“Why, no, ma’am—we met here in London when he asked us to look into the theft from your strong room,” Solomon replied.
Her amiable mask slipped for an instant, from perfect hostess to stunned, slightly irritated wife. Solomon glanced quickly at Lloyd and found a very curious expression on the man’s face—amused, avid, and somehow not pleasant.
A silence followed Solomon’s words as everyone stared at him with dismay.
A young man, impetuously entering the drawing room, glared at his father. “Seriously, Papa? You brought apolicemanto tea?”
Constance saved the day. “Oh, no, we are not the police,” she said. “We merely help people with their problems.”
“Is there much call for finding lost treasure in London?” the young man asked, a shade insolently.
“A great deal,” Constance said. “Although I suppose it all depends on what one regards as treasure.”
“My son,” Lloyd interjected at last. “Sydney, Mrs. Silver and Mr. Grey.”
