The Thorton Files

Chapter Nine

2007-08-08T15:21:00.000-04:00

“There he is, Becky.” Ellie’s voice made Randall turn toward the two girls as he passed through the kitchen on his way upstairs. The girls had apparently been having their afternoon tea, which they abandoned to come rushing up to him. “We’ve been looking for you all day. And haven’t been able to find you anywhere. You or Mr. Thorton.”
“He just went upstairs…” Randall trailed off. Harry had come through the front door, and taken the will up to his room for safe keeping. Randall now stood debating whether to communicate their recent errand to town. “Probably wouldn’t be prudent,” he thought. “Tell these two, and the whole world would know in twenty minutes.”
His thoughts on the subject were wasted, however, as Becky cut off any end to his sentence. “You’re not going to believe this, sir, but we heard a ghost last night!”
“Um, a ghost? How do you know it was a ghost?”
“Well, what else could it have been?” Becky, usually much more practical and level-headed than Ellie, was considerably alarmed.
“You see,” Ellie put in, “I heard this noise coming from Becky’s room.”
“But I thought the noise was coming from Ellie’s room.”
“Our rooms are right next to each other,” Ellie went on in an awed whisper. “It must have been inside the wall!”
“What made you think it was a ghost?” Randall asked, recalling the fruitless chase the night before.
“Can you think of anything else that makes strange noises in the walls?”
“Don’t worry your heads over it. It was probably a mouse,” Randall tried to reassured them, though not fully certain of what he was saying himself.
“It was not a mouse!” Ellie’s tone clearly expressed her annoyance. “I think I can tell the difference between noises made by a mouse and noises made by something else.”
“Oh yes,” Becky said. “It was a ghost. It was definitely not a mouse.”
“Why didn’t you call someone when you heard the noise?” Randall asked.
“I didn’t know what it was until this morning when Ellie told me. I didn’t think anything of it until she told me it was a ghost,” replied Becky.
“I didn’t actually say a ghost,” the other girl explained defensively. “I ask her what she had been wailing about last night. When she said she hadn’t been, and that she thought it was me, well, I knew we heard something. And since it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Becky, and the noise came from inside the wall. Well, what would you think?” Ellie blurted out. With that, she sat back in her chair and started to cry.
Becky quickly became her practical self again as she rushed to reassure her friend that, if she felt uncomfortable, they would spend the night in town, or at a friend’s. They certainly didn’t need to stay the night if Ellie did not wish.
Randall tried to extricate himself from the situation. Ellie was obviously distressed, either by the thought of having heard a ghost or by the fact that she’d been caught believing in something so silly. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m sure that if it was a ghost, it was a harmless one.”
“Oh, by the way,” Becky said in a low tone, turning to him as she poured another cup of tea for her anxious friend, “Someone’s been moving around those big chess men in the ballroom, like they were playing a game with them or something. I would not have thought anything of it. I’d have thought Ellie had been cleaning, only she would have put them back where they belong, you know.”
Randall was inclined to agree that this was an odd occurrence, and started for the ballroom. He had reached the door before he noticed Harry coming from the back stairs.
“I’ve got an idea,” Harry said to him. “We’ve been going on the assumption that Edmond’s key is likely to be in the front staircase. Maybe it’s in the back stairway. It’s less used, and anything Edmond was hiding wouldn’t be noticed at once. At least, not as soon as if it were hidden on the main stair.”
“It’s an idea,” Randall assented. “We can check it in just a minute. But first, Becky said that someone has been playing chess with the pieces in here,” he said entering the room, and surveying the black and white game pieces. Most of the pieces were still lining the walls, but several had been placed on the square tiles in the ballroom as though a life-sized game had been played. Randall, followed by his friend, made his way around the waist-high pawns to where the white knight lay next to the opposing queen.
“Well if that isn’t cheeky,” Harry said.
“What is?” Randall asked in reply.
“Look at the moves these pieces have made. The white knight has been captured, and the white king has trapped himself in a castle,” Harry pointed out, and then paused as he realized what message had been left for them both. He furrowed his brow. “He’s in checkmate. What an impudent threat.”
Randall shot a quick look at Harry. “Threat?”
“Certainly, a threat. Look, this white knight?” he said stepping over to the toppled piece, “is me. And the white king is you.”
“And this person wants to tell us…” Randall trailed off, unsure of how to finish.
“Wants to threaten us,” Harry corrected him. “The knight has been sacrificed to trap the king. And the king is in checkmate by the black queen.”
“So the person we’re dealing with is a woman?”
Harry was skeptical. “It’s a pretty flimsy assumption. I mean, there are only so many women around here with brains enough to undertake this treasure hunt. Or,” he said after another moment’s thought, “this person may have used the queen to signify that he or she is more powerful than the king.”
“So the queen may not be important at all?”
“It might be, but it might not. I imagine one of your live-in employees is behind this. After all, servants are notorious for knowing everything about anything. And it probably wasn’t a woman after all. At least, I don’t think any of them here are strong enough to move these big pieces.”
“Actually,” Randall said, picking up the black queen and setting it against the wall, “these pieces are hollow. So we still don’t know anything definite about this person.”

When they had replaced the pieces, Harry again expressed his desire to examine the back stairwell. They did so, but after an hour of close inspection, had turned up with nothing. “I guess you were right,” Harry said standing up. “It must be in the front stair after all.”
“Sure looks like it, we can go over it again after lunch.”
When the time came, they started on the main section of the stairs and worked their way up and over to the left balcony, and down towards the front of the castle. They were about three-quarters of the way down the hall, when Louis passed through. He stopped when he saw them.
“Lose something?”
“I just dropped one of my contacts,” Harry called down. “We’ll find it.”
“Oh, I’ll get a torch. They’re easier to find if you shine a light on them.”
“Do you really wear contacts?” Randall asked when Louis had left the hall.
“No,” Harry replied, “but he doesn’t need to know that.”
They were just about finished with the left balcony, when Randall called Harry over. With a bit of effort, one of the spindles could be twisted around. When they could turn it no more, a small door projected from the bottom of the next post. Randall reached into the cavity and withdrew what looked like a carving chisel. The handle was of a delicate lacework design, and the blade had deep grooves in either side.
“Edmund’s key?” he asked aloud.
“It must be,” Harry said.
Randall quickly pocketed the tool when he saw Louis returning with a flashlight. He moved casually in front of the section of rail. “Oh thank you, Louis, but we did find Mr. Thorton’s contact.”
“Yeah, see?”
Louis looked glanced at Harry’s empty outstretched hand. If he didn’t see any sign of a tiny transparent lens, he certainly gave no indication of it. Harry’s hand closed before Louis could look twice. “Alright then,” Louis said, “I’ll just put this away.”
When he had disappeared for the second time, Randall turned his attention back to the railing. Try as he might, he could not force the little door to close again. “Can’t just leave it that way,” Harry pointed out.
“I know. Becky is too efficient. She’ll see it for sure.”
Harry tried twisting the spindle in reverse. The little door closed on its own.
“You know,” Randall commented, “after all this is over, and we’re not working against someone, I’m coming back through all these hiding places, and figuring out how they work. The garden statue, the library door, this spindle--it seems awfully complicated for seventeenth century knowledge.”
“Actually, if you think about it, they were probably more advanced as far as mechanics. They didn’t have electricity, certainly, but wouldn’t that make them all the more skilled in the crafts they did possess?”
“Hmm,” Randall half-assented. “Now where to?”
Harry paused for a moment to think. “Let’s go get the green book. We’ll check the wording of Richard’s note, and then go on from there.”
But when Harry opened the little volume, he found that the riddle from the chessboard was missing.
“Oh, no,” Randall moaned, “the phantom strikes again!”
“At least he didn’t take the will for whatever reason” Harry replied, holding up the still sealed envelope. "He didn’t know what it was, or didn’t want to tear it open to see. And the chessboard riddle will do him no good. We’ve already got the knight.”
“I still wish he hadn’t taken it.”
“We’re only one step away from the treasure. Hopefully we can find the last key before it makes a difference,” Harry said opening the book. He began to walk around the room, thinking more clearly for the motion. “Let’s see, six metallic mosaics. Only one is the key, but the other five are part of it.”
“Six parts together...could it be shaped like a hexagon? or a cube?” Randall suggested, climbing onto the bed, and finding it a much more comfortable position for thinking than pacing the room like his friend.
“Is there anything like that in the museum?” Harry said turning to him.
“I really don't know. If there were, Louis would certainly know about it."
“True," Harry thought aloud. "I wonder how we could find out without asking him directly. He's still high on the suspect list. If he is our phantom, he'll understand exactly what we want, no matter how clever we think we may be.”
"We could approach Larry," Randall said, "and tell him what we're looking for, subtly suggesting that Louis might know where it is."
"But then we run the risk of Larry mentioning to Louis that we asked about it," Harry reminded him. He sat down next to him on the bed and thought for a moment. “Hmm, if it's a mosaic, wouldn't it be in a room that contains other artworks?”
Randall vetoed that idea. “There weren’t enough art related objects to set aside an entire room. Any artwork would be placed with items related by period or design.”
“Then we have to get Louis’ notebook. Any idea where he keeps it?”
“He usually has it with him, but he has a small office off the lobby. I would guess he keeps it in his desk when he isn't using it. We would have to wait until dinnertime to check it out. He goes to help Patrick set up the meal, and we could check it out without his knowledge.”
“Okay. In the meantime, we should take a look at this will,” Harry suggested, drawing the document out of the envelope.
It was rather lengthy, so Harry took the first few pages to the table to review, while Randall took the remaining ones and sat down on the bed. After an hour, Randall threw the papers aside.
“All these legal terms are mind-numbing,” he declared.
“I don’t get it,” Harry said. “It says Peter left the estate to his son, Douglas, and to his step-son Thomas the sum of thirty thousand pounds. The other two children received similar monetary bequests. But Thomas was clearly the eldest descendant. Shouldn’t he have gotten the castle?”
“Oh, of course!” Randall jumped off the bed. “It’s so simple! It makes perfect sense!”
“If it’s so simple, would you mind letting me in on this sudden revelation?” Harry demanded.
“It explains everything. We know Thomas was undeniably the eldest, but Douglas was Peter’s firstborn. The castle has always gone to the first born child, but the firstborn is usually the oldest child.”
At that moment there was a knock on Harry’s door. Randall shot a quick glance at Harry, who rose and opened it to find Louis.
“There is a telephone call for you, sir,” Louis said addressing Randall. “Woman from the historical society. Gave the name Elaine.”
“Thank you Louis. I’ll take it up here.”
When he left, Randall turned to Harry. “Do you think he was eavesdropping?”
“I certainly hope not, but in future I think we should keep our voices down. Would you meet me out in the garden when you’re done?”
“Sure.”
Harry was sitting in the garden making notes in his casebook, listening to the sound of the gardener’s shears snipping away when Randall came up to him some time later.
“Good news. I found out who Thomas’s…”
“Not so loud,” Harry whispered, motioning towards the sound of Cole’s hedge clippers, and leading him away from the spot. “What did you find?”
“The direct descendant of Thomas Greystone is a woman by the name of Danielle Robinson. It didn’t take as long as they thought.”
“That’s it?”
“Well I figured since it was a issue of the inheritance, the direct descendant was the only one who mattered much,” Randall explained.
Harry nodded in assent. “I’ve been narrowing down our list of suspects, trying to figure out who is most likely to harass you with these accidents and the ghost masquerade.”
“Have you come up with anything?”
“Right now it would seem as though the butler were our strongest suspect. He’s the right height for the phantom. He has a motive in ambition. He wears white gloves.”
“That’s too easy. I know he wears gloves, but…”
“You’re being influenced by the idea that the butler always does it.” When Randall offered no other reason for his doubt, Harry went on. “Servants generally know a great deal, especially butlers that listen at doors. More importantly in this case, he knows a great deal about Greystone family history, probably much more than is written in the exhibits.”
“Larry must know a great deal too,” Randall pointed out. “With all that research, he’s bound to come across useful information, like the stuff he told us about William. And don’t forget he is almost always in the same room as the entrance to the secret passage.”
“Except of course, when he’s walking through the hall with a small package the size of the book the night it went missing,” Harry insinuated. “He’s number two on the list.”
“Let’s not forget,” Randall said stopping. “The gum wrapper down in the key room. Ellie chews gum all the time and both maids would have easy access to any room in the castle.”
“True, but the wrapper is considered evidence. Evidence can be created or destroyed at the will of the suspect. We had found the room, they know we’d have seen that someone had been there. They needed to start framing someone. Anyone could’ve dropped the gum wrapper to throw us off.” They discussed the aspects of the case further, going over what they knew repeatedly while walking through the garden until Louis would be out of the museum and helping Patrick.

2007-08-07T10:48:00.000-04:00

One of the streets in the town we visited when we went to the historical society. The sign in the bottom right is for the restaraunt we ate at. It was the first time I had fish and chips from paper drowned in salt and vinegar. I wasn’t expecting to like it, but it was heaven! I’ll have to remember the name of that place.

Chapter Eight

2007-03-22T17:16:00.000-04:00

Beep! Beep! Beep!
Harry’s alarm clock yelled at him from the bedside. Without looking, he reached over and turned it off. When he did peek out from under heavy eyelids, red numbers glared through the dark room announcing the time. One forty-five. “Good,” he thought. “I’ve got fifteen minutes to get up there and figure out that lock.” He sat up and pulled on a warmer shirt, pushing his feet into a pair of slippers by the bed as he did so. On his way to the door, he grabbed the flashlight from the dresser. He opened the door and found, much to his surprise, Randall sitting on the floor in the hall just outside. He was clad in robe and slippers and was holding a flashlight.
“I decided I ought to come with you,” he explained standing up. “Since it’s my treasure we’re after, and the whole purpose of the hunt was to prove that I could finish what I started.”
“What about the ghost?” Harry asked with a sleepy grin.
“I’m not afraid. And if we see anything, it’ll only prove that I’m not as superstitious as you seem inclined to think.”
“Then let’s go. Time is running out.”
Back in the tower, Randall had disconnected the gong hammer and was watching the gears leading up to it to ascertain when it should have gone off. Harry gripped the gear with the handle and waited. As soon as Randall saw the gears start to turn, he called to Harry who pulled the gear out of alignment. Within seconds the pendulum stopped swinging, and the two stepped over to examine the wall. The stone segment now swung easily inward on an invisible hinge. The hand of a clock rested in a small cavity behind the wall.
“Claim your prize,” Harry said turning to his companion.
Randall reached in and picked up the key. It had several prongs on the back, obviously for opening the compartments outside the treasure room.
“The fourth key,” Randall said smiling.
“So the only ones left are…”
“Richard’s and Edmond’s,” Randall finished for him.
“Correct. Now let’s start this thing again and get some sleep.”
After shutting the stone segment and replacing the gears, they descended to the bottom of the tower which Randall then locked. Harry led the way toward their rooms using the back stairway. On reaching the second floor, he glanced down the hallway towards the front of the house, and caught sight of a closely hooded figure moving down the hall away from him.
Sliding out of his slippers, Harry noiselessly moved after the dark shape. He lost sight of it for a moment as it turned the corner, but caught a glimpse of the dark robe as it entered the Great Hall.
“Who are we chasing?” Randall came up behind Harry at the top of the stairs.
“Your ‘ghost’. I saw him as we came off the stairs.”
“We’ll never catch it,” Randall said. “There are too many places for it to hide once it reached the Hall--the library, museum, any room on the first floor, outside. It could’ve gone anywhere.”
“Okay, let’s take this systematically,” Harry said quickly. “You look in the parlour. I’ll stay here and make sure it doesn’t come back through.”
“Why do I have to look? What if it’s in there?”
“Okay fine. You stay here and I’ll go look for him.” He did so, searching behind curtains, furniture, and doors, but found no trace of the hooded figure. Harry quickly moved to the library, but with the same results. He returned to the hall and looked in the closets under the staircase, and the big coat closet off the balcony. Leaving Randall once again, he headed for the museum, but found the doors locked fast for the night.
“There’s no use keeping this up,” Randall said when his friend returned a second time. “It could have gone anywhere inside or outside the house before we came this far.”
“I guess your right. Let’s go to bed,” Harry conceded. When he entered his room, however, he found a small object on the floor just inside the door. He rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of frustration, defeat and exhaustion as he picked it up and turned back through the door and down the hall to Randall’s room. He knocked softly at the door.
“Come in,” was the reply.
Without a word, Harry entered the room and dropped it on the bed.
“Where did you find that?” Randall grabbed the little book.
“Painful, isn’t it? It was on the floor just inside my room.”
Randall carefully looked it over to make sure there was no damage, but then dropped it on the bed again. “Should we have checked for prints?” he asked.
“No point. This character is obviously smart enough to have worn gloves. He’s sadistic enough. And even if he didn’t, we’d have to match the prints. Do you want me to take it? I can lock it in my suitcase until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, go ahead. Close the door, will you?”
“Sure, good night.”

* * * * *

Inside, the castle was certainly spacious and cool, but the medieval architecture left little occasion for sunlight or fresh air, whereas outdoors, the sun was blazing oppressively. Stopping just outside the front door, Harry paused a moment to look about him. Randall had left for town just after breakfast, and he hoped to clear his head by taking another walk around the castle. He noticed a broad, gravel lane leading from the driveway into the woods away to his right, and, enticed by the shade of the trees and his own curiosity to see where it led, he chose this secluded place for his walk.
Surrounded by trees and listening to the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes, Harry faced the problem before him. He and Randall had found four keys so far, but there remained two still to be found. And he had no idea where to look for them. Richard and Edmond. One a collector; the other a woodcarver. “This isn’t going to be easy,” Harry thought. “Richard collected so many different things. It could be anything. Edmond at least presents a clue with his woodcarving craze. Still, practically everything was made of wood or stone in his time. There must be some way to figure this out. If we only knew where to look! Maybe I’ll have another try at the museum, though it’s probably a waste of time.”
As his mind followed on this path, his feet followed a path that snaked through the trees and thick underbrush for a few hundred yards before ending at a high wall which Harry guessed to be the one that surrounded the property. But as he neared the stone partition, he found that this was not the case. The wall obviously enclosed only a small area, but what was inside, he could not make out.
At the end of the gravel path, an iron gate broke the regularity of the ivy covered wall. He tried to open it but found it locked. Harry parted the dark green ivy with his hands and peered through the black bars.
“A cemetery.” His whisper cut into the silence where previously only nature had dared to break. Drawn by inexplicable desire, he began looking for another way in. Through the gate, he spotted a low branch overhanging the enclosure. Circling the cemetery to reach the tree, he hauled himself into its branches and dropped over the wall. He landed on top of a stone vault, one of six along the wall opposite the iron gate. Harry knew without looking that these burial chambers belonged to the original Greystone brothers.
It appeared to be the family’s private cemetery. In several places were imposing stone monuments, but most graves were marked with a simple headstone, much like one would expect to find in a centuries-old cemetery. He thought it not irreverent to remain perched atop the vault on which he had landed. He linked his hands behind his head, leant back, and extended his legs in front of him, peeking at the sky through the trees above. His thoughts turned to his competitor. Who could it be trying to beat them to the treasure?
“Anybody,” Harry thought aloud. “It could be anybody. Louis could be after it for either the historical significance or the money. He said himself he expected to come into a large amount soon. Or it could be Larry. He’s into history and what a story that would make for him. Aside from the money, anyone could have any kind of motive we haven’t even taken into account. It could be anybody.” Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

Some time later, he opened his eyes. Sitting up to look around, Harry realized he had fallen asleep! A glance at his watch showed him that nearly three hours had passed since he had begun his walk.
Harry sat up and idly fixed his eyes on the headstone in front of him. He looked rather like his bird friend from the garden, with his head cocked to one side as he read the name. “Helen Elizabeth Nichols Greystone,” he spoke aloud. “She seems to have had names to spare.” He jumped to the ground. After spending so long asleep, he felt it best to atone for lost time and began to inspect his surroundings. As he weaved around the headstones, Harry noted names belonging only to the people who had inherited the castle and their spouses.
Harry was not normally one to digress from an objective and quickly realized that his trip to the family burial ground was pointless. As he turned to leave, he remembered the gate was still padlocked from the outside. This knowledge, combined with the sight of the seven foot walls, Harry realized he was literally getting nowhere.
“Oh, this just gets better and better.”
He spied the six stone vaults. “Well, I can get out the same way I came in.” Climbing up on one, he easily reach the top, and jumped over. Randall would surely be back by this time, and probably would be wondering where he’d gone. Harry made his way back along the path to the house with a quickened step.
On his return, he noticed Larry’s car parked outside. He wandered into the library to keep an eye on him for a while. As he watched the researcher at his work, he made a pretence of looking at the books in the room. Grabbing one from the end of a shelf, he found a comfortable chair where he could observe without attracting observation himself. He opened the book and appeared to be reading.
Larry went on with his work, and for some time the only sound to be heard in the room was the click-clack of his mouse and the tip-tap of his keyboard. Harry began to contemplate just how unproductive his morning had been. He’d fallen asleep in a cemetery and was currently employed in spying on an avid research historian. Why could he not make his mind focus on finding a clue to the keys? He decided to break the silence.
“Do you know if Randall has come home?”
Larry looked up as if noticing for the first time that he was not alone. “I did not even know he was gone.” And he turned back to his work.
Harry looked at the book in his hand. It was a small black bible. He had opened the cover, but hadn’t turned a page since he sat down, so intent was he on the only other occupant of the library.
“Thomas Daniel Nichols in honor of his christening, ” read the inscription inside, “from his father and mother, Stephen and Helen Nichols.” Harry stopped. Helen Nichols. The name he had seen in the cemetery. “Now that’s just too weird,” he thought. “She must have remarried if her name was Greystone. If Thomas was the son, why didn’t he inherit the estate? He may have died before reaching adulthood. I wish I had looked closer at those headstones. I’ll ask Randall if the names mean anything to him.” Harry did not have to wait long, as the young man returned in time for well before lunch.
Harry intercepted him in the Hall. “You got a minute?”
“Sure, just let me take these to aunt Harriet,” he said, holding up some packages. “Meet me in the parlour.”
“Now what was it you wanted to know?” Randall asked, coming in to sit down in the blue wingback chair next to Harry’s.
“Does the name Nichols mean anything to you?” Harry questioned. “More specifically, Stephen and Helen Nichols? or Thomas Nichols?”
Randall was quiet for a moment thinking. “Nichols. It rings a bell. Why?”
“I saw it in a book in the library.”
“And?”
“This morning after you left, I went for a walk in the woods, and I followed the gravel path through the woods to a small stone enclosure.”
“The cemetery,” Randall commented.
“And while I was there …”
“The gate was unlocked?”
“Actually, I climbed the wall.”
Randall snorted. “I suppose you have an excuse to be snoopy.”
“Anyway, I found a headstone for ‘Helen Nichols Greystone’ and by uncanny coincidence, I also found this book in the library.” Harry showed him the inside cover. “This says she was married to Stephen, and had a son named Thomas. In order for her name to have been Greystone, she must have remarried after her husband died. Now here’s my question--why didn’t Thomas inherit the castle?”
“I don’t know. Her second husband may have already had children older than Thomas when they married. Or the boy could have died as a child. He may not even have still been living when his mother remarried.”
Harry remained silent, wondering how to find out more about Helen and Thomas. He knew how he wanted to go about it. He looked askance at Randall.
“You want to ask Larry? He’s a suspect!”
“Everyone’s a suspect. How else do you propose we figure this out?”
The boy snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. There’s a historical society in town! They might be able to help.”
“Let’s go,” Harry replied. “We can take my car so we don’t have to ask Harriet for hers.”
Harry pressed the button on his key ring to unlock the doors of his dark blue Honda Accent. He had had it sent over for his business trip and was glad to slide behind the wheel of his own car.
“Don’t forget which side to drive on,” his passenger remarked as they pulled out of the drive.
“I’ll remember that,” Harry said.
A fifteen minute drive brought them to the center of town, where Randall directed Harry to the Historical Society. Harry had no desire to attract the attention of the people in town. It was agreed that Randall would inquire, since it was his own family’s history and would arouse no more curiosity than that of the ladies inside.
As Randall entered the two-story brick building, the bell over the door clanged announcing his presence. Yellowed maps of the town hung in large picture frames around the room. File cabinets lined the walls. Randall placed himself in front of the only desk in the room. A plaque rested conspicuously before him on the desk. Elaine Carter. Within a few moments, a dark-haired woman in her early twenties appeared from another room and sat down.
“Ms. Carter?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you could help me get some information on one of my ancestors. I’m attempting to compile a family tree, but I can’t seem to find any details on one particular lady.”
“It’s quite the task you’ve undertaken,” Elaine commented. Many people don’t realize the labor involved in tracing their genealogy. But I’d be glad to help. What information do you have on this lady?”
Randall retrieved a piece of paper from his pocket. “Her name was Helen Elizabeth Nichols Greystone. I believed she lived from 1829 to 1917.”
“Well let’s see what I can get with that.” She said typing the name into her computer. “Alright then, Helen was married to Stephen Nichols in 1858. She bore him a son named Thomas in ‘62. One year after the birth of their son, Stephen Nichols died. In 1866, Helen married Peter Greystone. Three years later in 1869, they had a son named Douglas. In 1875, they had a daughter named Abigail, and in 1877 they had another son named Robert.”
Randall nodded as wrote the names and dates on his paper. He already knew that Peter had a son named Douglas. And that the castle and land had passed to him.
“Can you tell me what became of Thomas?” he inquired.
“Just a moment.” The historian replied turning back to her computer. “He lived to be eighty-seven years old. He was married to a girl named Anne Kittering in 1886. He had two children, Janet and Scott, and lived in Sussex.”
“Thank you so much,” Randall said nodded as he wrote these new details on his paper. “You’ve been a great help.”
She flashed a bright smile at him. “If you need anything else, you just let me know.”
“I will. Good day.”
“What’s that?” Randall asked, as he returned to the car to find Harry reading.
“Get A Clue. It’s a detective magazine.” Harry tossed it in the back amongst many more magazines and some empty soda bottles. “Whatcha find out?”
Randall briefed his friend on the recent interview inside. “Here’s the scoop. Helen marries some chap named Stephen Nichols and she become Helens Nichols. They have a son named Thomas. Stephen dies. Helen remarries to Peter Greystone, the man who built the museum, making her Helen Nichols Greystone. Thomas has three younger half-siblings--Douglas, Abigail, and Robert Greystone. Douglas got the estate.”
“Half-brother,” Harry said to himself. “But Thomas was still the eldest. Why didn’t he get the old place? Did he die?”
“No, Thomas married, lived a long life near Sussex, and died at the age of eighty-seven.”
“Children?”
“Yes, two. A boy and girl.”
“Can you find out what happened to his descendants? It could be crucial that we know who is in the direct line of this new branch.”
Randall retraced his steps to the office to make his request, but Miss Carter told him it would take some time. “I’ll look into it. Come back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have the genealogy report for you by then.”
Harry sat in the car with a scowl on his face. This new angle to his friend’s family history was causing him headaches, and it was written all over his forehead. He started the car when Randall came back, but didn’t pull out of his spot. He was thinking. Suddenly, he turned off the engine. “Let’s have lunch. I’m starved.”
“Good idea,” Randall said. “We will have missed lunch at home anyway.”
Getting out of the car, Randall led the way down the street to a small restaurant. Harry followed him silently. He was still thinking. They ordered lunch and sat near a window. All through lunch Randall felt the awkwardness of a one-sided conversation. He finally gave up trying to engage his friend. He was obviously thinking.
“I wonder where we could find a copy of Peter’s will?” Harry finally said aloud.
“A lawyer I know can help us out. His firm has been around here forever and they have handled many of the Greystone wills. They would probably be the best place to start.” Randall directed Harry to the building, and went in to procure a copy of the will, while Harry again waited outside. Half an hour went by before Randall came out carrying a large brown envelope.
“It took a while to find,” he explained, “and I dropped several comments about learning more of the man that made the museum to avert any suspicions or rumors from circulating.”
“Probably wasn’t necessary,” Harry remarked, “but you’re right. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

2006-12-23T13:15:00.000-05:00

This is a photo of the castle from the west side of the estate, across the lake. The center tower is the one that belongs to the museum. The front door is just to the left. (The little red splotch in front there is Harriet's car. Did I mention she drives a Ferrari?)
Also, the dock that Cole was fixing is just out of sight on the right amongst the bushes.

Chapter Seven

2006-12-13T10:58:00.000-05:00

““Do you think it’s safe?” Randall asked, shining the light in the opening.
“Probably not, but then neither are most of the other medieval subterranean passages I’ve been in. Want to wait here?” Harry asked with a grin.
“No way. I’m coming,” he said quickly.
“It might be haunted.” Harry remarked with mock gravity.
“Uh….”
“I’m joking.” He replied laughing. “Come on.”
The doorway was only three feet high forcing them to crawl into the passage, but it returned to normal height immediately inside the opening. Randall shut the door, leaving it open just a crack. The passage turned sharply to the right, and presently came to a set of moldy stone steps that led down. Sneezing at the smell of dust and mold, Harry carefully made his way down, and found another stairway leading down to a subterranean level. Randall kept just behind him as the corridor snaked along for a ways and stopped at a nearly solid wrought iron gate. Finding it unlocked, Harry gave it a push. It opened easily, causing Harry to pause.
“What’s wrong?” Randall asked in a hushed voice.
“The door,” he whispered back. “I expected it to be harder to open. And I thought rusty hinges made a lot more noise.”
Randall shone his light while Harry knelt down. “Someone’s been down here. They’ve oiled the hinges.”
Harry got up and continued on through the door to a room about the size of a small bedroom. The two investigators played their lights around the walls. In the opposite wall was a heavy door made of stone. It had no frame, but a large gap between it and the wall on all sides. Harry could see that it was locked by steel bars running into the stone door. He counted two bars through the top, two through the left side and two through the right.
“Hmm,” Harry mused.
“Dead end?” Randall asked, no longer whispering.
“Only until we figure out how to open it.” Harry shone his light closer while Randall ran his beam across the ceiling and backed away from the door. Harry heard him utter a cry and looked over to see him spread on his back. “You okay? What happened?”
Randall sat up. “I tripped over something,” he said. He moved his foot to find a metal saw. Harry picked it up and looked around at the floor. Along the left wall was a pedestal with a circular depression in the top, but what arrested his attention was a large floodlight sitting in the corner attached to several batteries.
“Well, this proves that someone else does know about the treasure,” he said stepping over to examine the contraption. And those weird noises I heard the first night were probably caused by someone using this saw. I wonder what they were sawing?” he mused.
“Harry, come here and look at these,” Randall said. On either side of the door were three metal panels, each marked differently. Harry looked over to where Randall had fixed his light, shining it slowly over each one.
Harry reached over behind the lamp and flicked a switch. The room was instantly flooded with a bright light. “Makes it easier to see in here now don’t you think?”
“Six panels,” Randall said switching off his flashlight. “This one is like a checkerboard. And that one looks like a clock.”
“And this is just a regular keyhole,” Harry thought to himself. Aloud he said, “Locks. Six brothers, six keys, six locks protecting the treasure. If we put all the keys in, I’d bet that big door would open.”
“Let’s try one. Do you still have William’s?”
“Yes.” Randall inserted the big skeleton key in the panel, but paused a moment. “Wow, this will be the first time in three hundred years this thing has been opened.” He commented reflectively.
“Yes, and we will be the first people in three hundred years to see the treasure.” Harry replied. Randall smiled at the thought, and gave the key a turn. It swung open and revealed a small cavity. Two things were inside; an iron wheel the size of a dinner plate, and a silver pie-shaped wedge. While Randall was examining the piece, Harry gave the wheel a turn, which it only did with a good deal of effort. The sound of metal scraping against stone was heard, and Harry discovered that one steel bar had retracted from the door. He also noticed that one of the other bars had saw marks on it.
“Pretty tight security. Those bolts must be at least three inches thick!” Harry commented. “So what’s that?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Randall said, turning the wedge over in his hands, “but judging from the pegs and holes on the sides, I think it would connect to similar wedges to make a circle.”
“A circle big enough to fit this depression?” he asked, pointing to the pedestal.
Randall placed the wedge in the shallow hole. “Uh, yes.”
“You know,” Harry said thoughtfully, “I get the idea that this chess piece is actually Walter’s key, not just a tool for finding it.”
“I know a way we can find out right now,” Randall said with a smile. He took the key and inserted it in a slot in the chess board panel. He slid it around the perimeter of the board. They heard it ‘click’ as the door unlocked. The space behind the panel was exactly like the first. Picking up the second wedge, he found that the two fit together perfectly. A short peg projected from the bottom of each one.
“Interesting,” Harry commented. “Make sure you put wheel back before we leave. We want to have all the keys before arousing the suspicions of our unknown opponent. But go ahead and keep the wedges.
Having done so, they turned off the lamp and made their way up to the library again, careful that no one saw them coming out. When they exited, Harry had trouble closing the door completely. It refused to shut even when both men put their weight against it.
“We can’t just leave it open,” Randall said nervously. “Anyone could come in here and see it. The first time Larry comes in, he’ll be sure to notice it.”
“Well, there’s got to be a way to shut it. It wasn’t like this when we found it,” Harry replied. They pushed it open to look at the track, thinking perhaps something had stuck there, but when they opened the door completely, it began to close on its own.
“That’s not exactly safe. We could’ve gotten stuck in there if we hadn’t left it open when we went in,” Randall commented.
“Well, I’m guessing there haven’t been a lot of people down there lately to take that risk, except one. We need to get the medallion before someone else does and then I think we should talk with Ellie.”
“Ellie?”
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled gum wrapper. He unfolded it to read the word Teaberry. “I found this lying downstairs beside the floodlight.”
“Wow,” Randall said. “I never would’ve thought Ellie had brains enough to be the one ‘haunting’ this place. Do you really think it’s her?”
“I’m not accusing her yet, but who else around here chews gum?” he asked as they left the room.

* * * * *

Harry peered through the crack. No one in sight, he quickly crossed the courtyard to the pipe closet, closed the door behind him and pulled the lever to turn off the fountain. Turning back around, he cracked open the door. Randall had gone to the garden to retrieve the medallion, agreeing to come back through the courtyard on the way back. Harry waited for him to appear so that he could turn the fountain back on.
As he looked through the door and waited, he noticed the open door to the greenhouse. He remembered that it was nearly dinnertime and that Diane usually left before lunch. “She must’ve left it open when she left,” he thought, “unless she’s come back.” Too curious to let it pass, he made sure the coast was clear, jogged over to the greenhouse and peered through the doorway. Diane was nowhere in sight, but Harry decided to poke around anyway.
Walking down the rows of plants, he noticed a notebook lying amid the flowerpots and gardening tools. He looked around once more and opened the notebook. It appeared to be Diane’s notes and observations on the plants. Various data was listed on temperature, soil acidity, sunlight, watering, and plant diseases. As he scanned through the pages, he found one entry that startled him.
I’ve looked everywhere, but I still haven’t found it. I wish I knew what the medallion looks like. ‘Gold with dark center’ doesn’t help much. It has to be around here somewhere. I’m not going to stop until I find it.
“What are you doing?” said a voice behind him.
Harry slammed the book shut and whirled around, his face flushed to be caught snooping. Randall stood just inside the door. “Don’t scare me like that!” Harry breathed with relief. “I was just looking at this notebook of Diane’s. Look at this note I found.” Opening the book to the page he had seen a moment ago, Harry pointed to the entry. “Do you suppose she found it?”
“Maybe she wasn’t looking for the same medallion.”
“What other medallion could she be looking for?”
Randall pointed to the first entry on the next page. Found the medallion flower near the low stone bench. Known as the melampodium palladium, its ability to grow in shade and sun makes the medallion flower perfect for my experiment with cross-plant breeding.
“Did you get our medallion?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” Randall replied as he handed it to Harry. “ And it’s almost time for dinner. You’d better go in and clean up.”
“Sure thing. I’ll meet you there.” Harry placed the notebook back on the table and made his way up to his room. Upon entering he removed the medallion from his pocket and placed it and the other two keys in one of his suitcases which he then locked. After washing up he started towards the front stairs, but stopped short when he noticed Larry coming out of the library with a small object in his hand, and heading for the front door.
“That’s odd,” Harry thought. “It’s late for him to be working. And I thought he told me he wasn’t going to be here today.” The detective made a mental note of the occurrence, and continued to dinner. He soon entered the dining room and found Mrs. Saunders just sitting down.
“Have you had a chance to see that chess set yet?” she inquired once he was seated.
“As a matter of fact, yes I did. The carving on the base is very exquisite. It must have taken a long time to make it.”
“Did Randall tell you that the entire set was actually carved by a Greystone? His name was Edmund. He and his five brothers built this castle, and much of his work is still around.”
Randall entered and sat down near Harry.
“Much of whose work?” Randall asked, as he came in and sat beside Harry.
“Oh, I was telling your friend about Edmund and how he carved the chess set and several other things here. His best work of course is displayed in the museum.” Harriet said turning back to Harry. “Except, obviously, the immovable things like some of the mantle pieces, and his greatest project which is the railings and staircase in the Great Hall.” She paused to help herself to some of the hot creamy soup which Louis brought in. “Most extensive that stairway is, and he made every single piece. I think the only help he had were some carpenters from town, but even they were only allowed to fashion a few of the basic parts.”
“My, you certainly know a great deal about your family history,” Harry praised her.
“I believe it is one’s duty to remember a person’s ancestry so that it may be passed on to future generations. Though I do pride myself on knowing as much as I can about the Greystone family.”
“Certainly a quality that proves most useful,” Harry commented.
“By the way, Randall,” Harriet said turning to her nephew. “Would you mind picking up a few things for me if you go into town tomorrow?”
“I would need to use your car. Mine, uh, isn’t running properly.”
Harriet‘s face dropped a little, “Oh, yes, that’s right. Well just be careful with it.”
“Do you want to come along Harry?” Randall asked.
“No thanks, I’d rather do some more exploring, if that’s ok.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
They finished dinner in relative silence, and said good night to Harriet. Afterwards Randall accompanied Harry to his room to discuss the treasure hunt. Harry then told about seeing Larry in the Great Hall.
“Maybe he just stopped by to check on some notes,” Randall suggested.
“Or perhaps he was nosing around looking for clues,” Harry said. “What was he carrying? I’d like to know.”
Randall declared he had no idea, and asked Harry if he had any plans for their next move. Harry powered up his laptop to consult his case notes, which he showed to Randall.
“Don’t forget to add what Aunt Harriet said about Edmund’s work.”
“What did she say about it?”
“I don’t know. I thought she told you something before I came in.”
“No, just stuff about Edmund’s work in the museum, and fireplace parts, and the stairway.”
“Wait a second,” Randall said slowly. “Didn’t she say that only he worked on that staircase? Edmund said something in William’s book about hiding the key in some wooden thing that he created. And if the stairway was his greatest project, aside form hiding the treasure . . .”
“The staircase might hide the key! Good point,” Harry said. “Where’d you put that book?”
“It’s in my room. I’ll be right back.”

Randall came back to Harry’s room a few minutes later, a look of apprehension on his face. “Did I give the book to you?”
“No, I’m sure you had it.”
“Well, it’s gone! I can’t find it!” he nearly shouted.
“What do you mean? Where did you put it last?”
“On my nightstand, I thought, but it’s not there anymore. I’ll show you.” Randall led the way down the hall in the direction of the back of the house to his room. Upon arriving Harry found the contents the nightstand drawer scattered on the floor, and the covers on the bed thrown off.
“Did you look under the bed?”
“Yes, and behind the nightstand.
“Was it here when you got ready for dinner?” the detective asked.
“I…I don‘t know. I didn’t come up here. Cole stopped me to ask me about some repair that needed to be made, so I didn’t have time.”
“When did you last see it.?“
Randall thought for a moment. “After we came out of the secret passage, I got it out of the desk and put it on my nightstand.”
Harry mulled over the information he had just heard. “So it could have been taken any time between then and when we finished dinner. Maybe that’s what I saw Larry carrying.”
“Did you think he purposely had Cole distract me so he could get it?”
“I suppose it’s not impossible. Did he ask you about some planks for the dock?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact he did. Why?
“He did tell me he was going to ask you about it,” Harry thought aloud, “but he might just have been setting up an alibi.”
“Anyone could have had the opportunity to take it,” Randall admitted dejectedly. “During that time span everyone, even Patrick, would’ve had time.”
“I suppose there is no use looking for prints. He would have touched only the book,” Harry decided. “There doesn’t seem like anything else we can do. I’d better go to bed if I’m going to search through the tower tonight. See you tomorrow.” As Randall bent down to clean the mess on the floor, Harry turned to go back to his room.
“Goodnight,” Randall called after him.

Chapter Six

2006-11-14T09:17:00.000-05:00

“One . . . two . . . three . . . push!” Harry commanded. But nothing happened.
“Does this mean we’ll have to come up here at two in the morning?” asked Randall.
“Could be.”
“Oh, well, uh, as much as I would love to find his key,” he said, “maybe you could try it solo tonight?”
“Why? I thought you wanted to find the treasure yourself?” the detective probed warily, sensing that his young friend was keeping something important from him.
Randall turned a little red and was silent.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Randall sighed in frustration and then blurted out, “The clock tower is haunted.”
Harry was speechless. “Haunted,” he finally said. “How do you know?”
“Those noises you heard last night? I heard them too, and I’ve been hearing them for several weeks now.”
“It’s probably just the water pipes groaning,” Harry said.
“But we’ve seen a ghost too!”
“ ‘We’?”
“Patrick . . . and myself. I’ll grant that he is a bit superstitious,” he said condescendingly, “but I know I saw one.”
“At different times then?”
“Yes. It was ghostly figure with snow white hands and a pale face wearing a black hooded cloak.”
“You saw the face? Did it look like anyone in particular?” Harry asked intrigued.
“I didn’t stick around long enough to decide if the features were familiar!” Randall retorted.
“Then in that case I won’t ask you to accompany me tonight. Poking around dark castles in the middle of the night with a . . . torch, all by myself is one of my favorite hobbies,” Harry said with a smirk. “But I do still want to do a little snooping before then. Coming along?”
“Depends on where you’re going.”
“Larry’s computer in the library. I want to see if he makes any mention about searching for the treasure.”
“You think he’s behind the accidents, do you?” Randall asked curiously. “Do you really think he’d chronicle his movements for the world to view?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”

* * * * *

“Oh good, no password needed,” Harry said happily.
“I’m not surprised. Now Louis’ computer in the museum, that’s another story. That one is impossible to get into. Louis is a nut about security, not that he does much about it.”
“Hmm . . . ” Harry said after a few minutes. “It’s all about artifacts from the museum.” He started browsing through the folders, trying to find something helpful.
“Wait!” Randall cried suddenly. “There it is!”
“Where? What?” His eyes searched the screen for what he had missed.
“Look!”
Harry did. Randall was no longer interested in the computer, but was pointing to the mantel above the fireplace.
There, carved in six frames of stone, were the symbols of the brothers!
Quickly shutting down the computer, he joined Randall at the fireplace. “Let’s examine it,” he said.
“For what? What are we looking for?” the young man asked.
“There may be another clue somewhere.” Randall excitedly started pushing and jiggling anything he could to see what would happen. Harry knelt down to examine the bricks around the fireplace. After searching for several minutes and finding nothing, Harry was covered in ashes from the knees down and his hands were smudged with soot. Randall’s excitement began to die down, when he found that one of the bricks on the side above the mantel jiggled a little more than the rest.
“Hey!” He pulled out a pocket knife and started to loosen the dirt around it. Harry stood up and watched as Randall extracted the stone, revealing a handle behind. Randall looked over at him, his eyes sparkling with delight. He gave it a tug, and a stony scraping sound was heard.
“They moved,” Harry declared.
“What did?”
“These carved symbols,” he replied, scrutinizing them. He reached up to touch them and found they spun easily.
“They spin?” Randall gasped, asking the obvious.
The six symbols were carved onto stone cubes, each with a different symbol carved on all four sides. The scraping noise they had heard was made by the stones which separated the blocks receding into the chimney, and thus allowing for the movement of the spinning.
“It must be a combination lock to open a panel or something,” Harry commented. “I wonder what order they have to be turned to?”
“It’s not eldest to youngest, that’s what they were set to. Maybe youngest to eldest?”
“There’s one way to find out.” Harry tried the combination. “Can’t do it that way. Thomas’ symbol isn’t even on the right block.”
They stood back and stared frustrated at the panel.
“Think the book would help?”
“Could be,” Randall agreed. “I’ll get it and be right back.”

“Here we go,” he said returning to the room. “It’s William, Walter, Charles, Thomas, Edmund, and Richard.”
“Richard’s block looks like a y, right?”
“No, no. That’s Edmund. You’ve got those two switched around.”
“Oh, ok. There we . . . whoa!” With a deep rumble, the back of the fireplace slid to one side.
“It’s a tunnel!” Randall nearly shouted. “We did it!”
“Shh!” Harry cautioned him. “We don’t want anyone to hear us. This must be where the treasure is hidden. William said that when we found the door to the hiding place, our quest would begin. And look, there are the stars and moon on the chimney, ‘shining’ on us You go put the book back, and get some flashlights so we can see in there. I’ll stay here. I don’t want anyone dropping in at an inopportune moment.”
“I told you before, it’s called a torch . . .”
“Whatever!”

Chapter Five

2006-09-15T20:36:00.000-04:00

Randall and Harry were standing out in the great hall. “Richard said that there were clues in the portraits,” Harry explained. “There, the clock Thomas is holding reads two o’clock. I’d bet that if we went up to the tower at two o’clock, we might just be able to move those stones.”
“But is it a.m. or p.m.?”
“First we’ll try p.m. If that doesn’t work, we go for a.m.” Harry looked at his watch. “It’s still early, so we have time to work on another clue.”
“Walter said that in order to find his key, we need to ‘find his favorite on his favorite.’ What does that mean?”
“Well,” Harry took a deep breath, “given that his favorite game was obviously chess, I think we must need to find his favorite chessboard, assuming it’s lasted this long. It’s got to be the one in the painting. ‘My favorite on my favorite.’ No doubt one of the pieces, and even if we don’t find the board, if we can find the right piece . . . ”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know, but maybe once we locate it, we’ll find out.”
“What about those numbers and letters?” Randall asked.
“I have an idea, but let’s try and find that board first. Have you ever come across any that looked like the one in the picture?”
Randall looked at the painting closely. The board and pieces were made from a combination of dark and light wood. The board appeared to be several inches high featuring intricate carving around the sides. He thought for a moment before replying. “Not right offhand, but there are some curios in the music room that contain chessmen and things. It may well be in one of them.”

* * * * *

They entered a dark room with a polished wooden floor. The wall which separated the music room from the adjoining room had been pushed aside. Harry imagined the castle must have been the site of many parties and dances in times when balls excited great interest. The ball room walls were of stone and five stained glass windows could be seen decorating the room with dim colored light. Colorful banners hung along the wall opposite each window.
A highly polished black grand piano dominated the music room. Dark green drapes hung along one wall. When Harry peeked behind one of the curtains, sunlight filtered into the room. He pulled them back all the way to fill the room with light, and revealed several French doors to a large veranda. Six glass cabinets stood on one side of the room, each displaying decorative chess boards. Some were obviously new, but there were several which appeared to be quite old.
Randall walked across the room to the first cabinet. Harry came up beside him and they both peered through the glass. The first cabinet was filled with various chess sets from different countries. A Japanese board featured a grid of eighty-one squares, with fifty pieces set up on the board, similar to checkers, each piece having a different design engraved on the top.
“I don’t see it,” Randall said.
“Well, there are five more cabinets. Let’s look in those.” Harry moved aside and they stepped over to the next display. Inside were sets made of glass or metals. Seeing that there were no wooden sets, they checked the third display cabinet. On the second shelf, sat a wooden board like the one in the portrait.
“It must be this one.” Randall said pointing. “It looks like the board in the painting, so now we should just need Walter’s favorite piece that went with this set.”
“Uh, Randall,” Harry said, “this cabinet is locked. Do you have the keys?”
“The keys? Oh, Aunt Harriet must have them.”
“Would she give us the key?”
“Does the glass come out?” Randall said, avoiding the question.
“She’s not going to want to give us the key,” Harry said for him.
“Hmm, only from the inside.”
“Randall,” Harry prodded him.
“The last time I asked her for keys, I scratched the paint on her car. I didn’t really want to have to ask again and rehash that whole episode.”
Harry was silent as he thought for a moment. “Should I ask her?”
“You can try now if you want. It’s lunchtime,” he said as he left the room. Harry followed behind him. They came into the dining room just as Mrs. Saunders came in by another door. “Are you feeling better, Aunt Harriet?”
“Much better, dear.” She sat down in her chair as Harry took his place next to Randall. “Are you enjoying your stay, Mr. Thorton? I’m sorry I haven’t been much of a hostess today, but I imagine Randall is making sure you have a pleasant time.”
“Yes, ma’am. This is a wonderful old place with beautiful grounds. The garden especially is so refreshing to walk in. It must take a good deal of your time to oversee the care of such extensive property.” Harry paused long enough to see her smile in response. “There are so many rooms here, and so many things to interest a person. The ball room, for instance. What a wonderfully old-fashioned room! I can just picture the nobles of England in elaborate costume filling the room with music and conversation.”
“Yes, well there have been times when this family has been host to the greatest families of Britain,” she said with a touch of boastful dignity. “I remember many instances in my own lifetime that the parties and dances here would have rivaled any in society.”
Louis came in presently with a tray of sandwiches, which he served to Mrs. Saunders.
Seeing that she looked gratified by his subtle flattery, Harry decided to broach the subject of the chess cabinets. “The music room,” he said, guiding the conversation, “has some curious chess sets. Have you had the collection long?”
“Oh yes, it’s been in the family for years. One in particular is very old.” Harriet served a bowl of soup for her guest from a large tureen in front of her and passed him the bowl. “Randall’s father was an avid chess player. I learned a great deal about the game from him.”
Randall looked at Harry. “Now you’ve done it,” he said softly.
“I remember he used to sit down to a game and wait for me to come by,” the woman continued. “He would do anything to persuade me to play, and no matter what else I had to do or what excuse I gave, I always found myself playing a round with him. Jeff was always persuading me to do things for him. He once persuaded a friend of his to buy a lame horse! Now what good would a lame horse do anyone? And the man knew it was no good.”
“So you know a good deal about the game then?” Harry asked when he saw her turning away from the subject. He took a sandwich from the tray Louis placed on the table.
“I do, certainly. And not just how to play. My brother would talk all about the history of the game while we played. It used to bore me to death, but I certainly did learn a great deal. Do you know much about it yourself?”
“No, in fact, I’d never developed any interest in the game until I saw those pieces in the music room,” he said with an arch smile.
“Chess is a very old game, originating as far back as the 7th century. The most popular belief is that it started in India, which,” she added doubtfully, “may or may not be correct. Then during various wars, soldiers of one nation would teach the game to soldiers of another and it came to Europe through Spain in, oh, late 14th or early 15th century. I don’t remember exactly. When it reached Europe, the abilities of different pieces changed and new moves were invented such as castling and en passant.”
“En passant? What is that?” Harry inquired.
“It’s a French term. It means 'in passing',” Randall piped up. “In the game of chess, it refers to a special move where one pawn captures another. It may only be done on the captured pawn’s opening move when it passes another pawn.”
“That’s right,” Harriet smiled at her nephew’s interruption. “Up until the 1850’s the king and queen pieces were very ornately decorated. They would be made from gold with so many jewels that the pieces were really top-heavy and impractical to use for play. There is a set of ancient pieces on display at one of the national museums in London. A peasant in 1831 found them inside a stone chamber on the Island of Lewis. It has seventy-eight pieces, and is the most complete set of ancient chessmen around today.”
“Wow! You really do know a lot about chess,” Harry declared.
Harriet smiled at his praise. “We have an antique set in one of those cabinets in the music room. It’s been around since the late 1600’s.”
“Really?” Harry said, feigning surprise. Randall shot him a glance of mock disgust mingled with amusement.
“Yes. In fact, there is a portrait of one of our ancestors in the hall, which shows the very same chess board. It’s wooden and has all of it’s pieces still intact.”
“Would you show it to me sometime?”
“Oh you may look at it anytime. Randall,” she instructed, “make sure Mr. Thorton has opportunity to see that set.”
“Yes, Aunt Harriet, but I will need the keys to the cabinet.”
“Oh yes, well, Ellie has them. Be sure that you’re very careful with those antique sets. They are not as repairable as a paint scratch,” she said glancing at Randall.
“I’ll be careful,” he said.
Mrs. Saunders, having finished her soup and sandwiches, rose to leave. As she opened the door, she turned back to Harry. “Jeff had a book about chess that he was constantly referring to. I forget the name of it, but it was written way back in the mid-1700’s. He had a copy of it in the library if you’re interested in looking into it further.”
Harry swallowed the mouthful he was chewing and smiled in response. “Who’s Ellie?” he asked when she had left.
“One of the maids. She’d have to have the keys in order to clean the shelves in the cabinets.”
“Would she lend them to us?”
“Definitely.”
Just then, Louis came in to tell Randall he was wanted on the phone. Waiting for his host to finish his call, Harry meandered around the front rooms of the castle. A short time later Randall rejoined Harry, and they went in search of Ellie. After ten minutes of searching, they found her cleaning the windows in a spare bedroom. A blonde ponytail swung back and forth and her cleaning rag swished across the glass along with the rhythm of the music on her walkman. She blew an enormous bubble, and somehow succeeded in keeping it from sticking on her face when it popped.
“Ellie?” Randall asked approaching her from behind.
Swish, swish, swish.
“Ellie?”
Spritz, swish, swish.
“ELLIE!” He pulled one of her earphones out.
“Hmm? Oh yes, sir?” she asked, arching her brow.
“Do you have the keys to the cabinets in the music room?”
“Oh sure,” she replied, fishing them out of her skirt pocket. “There you go.”
“Thanks, you’re a peach.”
She scrunched up her nose and smiled at him. “I know.” She placed the earpiece back and continued her music-driven cleaning.
“I think someone is sweet on you,” Harry commented as they left the room.
“Oh, you think so, huh?”

* * * * *

“Alright.” Taking the keys out of his pocket, Randall opened the glass door to the third cabinet and carefully moved the pieces off the board. “This must be the one,” he said as he pulled it out. “It’s just like the one in the painting. Now we should only need the favorite piece that went with this set. But which one would that be?”
Harry examined the various pieces. “I’m not sure, but there may be a clue in the painting. I’ll be back in a minute.” He left Randall to look at the chess set and headed to the great hall. After examining the painting for several minutes, he noticed Randall standing beside him.
“Doesn’t this guy look funny sitting with his arms folded that way? It almost looks like he’s pointing to that chess piece.”
“Huh” and “Yeah, that’s weird” came two voices beside him.
Harry turned to see the two maids, Ellie and Becky, looking curiously at the painting.
“Oh, I . . . thought you were Randall.”
“Do I look like Randall?” Ellie asked with mock indignation. “What’re you looking at?”
“Oh,” Harry stuttered, “I was, uh, just looking at this painting.”
“Well, that’s certain,” Becky said. “You’re looking pretty close. You an art buff or something?”
Harry changed the subject. “Are you two cleaning in here now? Should I get out of the way?”
“No, we were just on our way to the kitchen for some clean water.” Ellie took the headset that was around her neck and replaced it over her ears. As she left the room swinging a pail in her hand, her ponytail began to bob back and forth again. Harry left the room as well and returned to Randall in the music room.
“It’s one of the black knights. Walter has his arms folded,” Harry paused to demonstrate, “and he is pointing to the black knight.”
“But which black knight?” Randall asked.
“Let me have the pieces,” Harry said. Taking one in each hand, he pronounced the one on his left to be noticeably heavier. “So it’s probably that one.”
“Well, okay. So now that we found it, what do we do with it?”
“Use the letters and numbers; they’re the trick. See chess boards are divided in to rows called ranks and files. Ranks are the horizontal rows, and files are the vertical ones. Each horizontal row has a letter A through H, and each vertical has a number 1 through 8.”
“I thought you said you had no interest in chess before you got here?” Randall challenged.
“I looked up that book in the library after lunch while you were on the phone.”
“So ‘find my favorite on my favorite, and use it with this grid,’ ” Randall said, “means to find his chess piece, and with it, touch the squares he wrote down.”
“We have G8, F6, E4, and D6.” When they touched the last square, there was a slight click and a piece of the artwork on the base popped out like a drawer. Inside was a yellowed piece of paper, but no key. It read:

The stars and moon will shine on you as you begin your quest;
Move like a knight upon his horse to quickly pass the test.
Take care to keep your path in check along the outside border,
So you may see the sun arise and claim his rightful order.

Harry was stumped by the riddle. “So, we run as fast as a horse around the border of the property at night, until the sun comes up and we’ll find the key.”
“No,” Randall said giving Harry a withering look. “William said something similar to that in his book. Let’s take a look at it again.” They took the paper, and placed the board and pieces back in the case except for the knight, which Harry pocketed. He noticed a magnet in the bottom of the piece, which explained why it was heavier, and how it worked the squares on the board.
Back in the library, Randall pulled the knob to open the compartment in William’s desk. He scanned through the writing. “Ah, here it is,” he said, “ ‘To begin your quest you must find the door to the hiding place’. So it must have to be dark when the stars and moon are out to open the door.”
“It’s only one o’clock now, so let’s look for someone else's key,” Harry suggested. “What’s the next one say?”
“ ‘Stop the springing forth, and have that which is near to my heart. Charles.’ ”
Harry thought for a moment. Charles had an interest in the outdoors, especially the garden. “The springing forth is probably a fountain, possibly the one in his garden,” he mused. “Where’s the shut off valve?”
“There are two actually, there’s a spigot valve in the conservatory, and a bigger lever in a closet. My grandfather had the spigot installed to make it easier to shut off the fountain for cleaning and repair, and so it would be closer,” explained the boy. “That’s obviously not the one we’re looking for. Come on. I’ll show you the other one.”
Randall led Harry through the castle to a wooden door around the corner from the one he found earlier leading out to the courtyard. “It’s right there,” he said turning on the light. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling. The room was little more than a closet and barely big enough for the two of them. Several pipes ran along one wall with the lever.
“Those pipes look pretty old,” Harry commented. “You should get them replaced.”
“No, they’re fine,” Randall said. “Cole told me it’s the dampness of the room causing mold to grow on them. Give me a hand with this lever will you?”
“Sure, on the count of three, okay? One . . . two . . . three!” The lever protested loudly, but gave way to the force put on it.
“Ah, there we go,” Randall said smiling. “Now let’s take a look at that fountain!” They made their way out of the room to the courtyard. The fountain had stopped flowing, but there was no change otherwise. They looked in and around the fountain, but could detect nothing unusual.
“ ‘Stop the springing forth’? You’re sure that’s what it said?” Harry asked.
“Yes, ‘and have that which is near to my heart’.”
“And we are to assume that means his key to the treasure?”
His companion merely shrugged. “I thought so.”
Harry stood thinking while Randall continued searching the fountain. Closing his eyes, he sighed. They had followed Charles’ directions, so where was the key? He opened his eyes. A little bird was perched on the edge of the fountain, apparently come for a bath. It was the same kind he’d seen in the garden near that statue. Harry remembered that he never did ask Randall whose image it was.
“You know that statue in the garden?” he asked.
Randall’s eyes brightened. “The statue! It’s Charles!”
“Why would a guy want a statue of himself in his own garden?”
Randall shrugged. “Maybe something opened up near the statue’s heart.”
Harry kept up as best he could as his companion took off, weaving and turning through flowers and trees until Harry found himself again enclosed by evergreens on either side.
“Nothing’s moved,” he heard Randall say. There seemed to be no change in the sculpture at all, until Randall began to circle the stone image. “Oh! Brilliant!”
“What?!” Harry asked. He walked around to the back of the sculpture.
Randall’s eyes were wide with excitement as he lifted the jeweled medallion from the neck of the statue. Harry ran his hand over the statue’s back. The stone pillar that had secured the medallion had sunk down into the statue, leaving a hole under the back of the head. He reached his fingers into the hole, looking for a key. Finding none, he felt more carefully for a lever or spring to unlock another compartment. He tried pushing on the stone bar, expecting it to depress further. But nothing moved.
Suddenly the truth dawned on him. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “The medallion is Charles’s key, not an ordinary key like William’s.”
“What ever made you think of this statue?” Randall asked.
His friend smiled, thinking to make a cheesy remark about the little bird telling him. Instead he replied, “Just an impulse. Maybe it would be best if we put it back and turned the fountain on again until we find where to use these keys. If anyone finds it missing, it would be difficult to explain.”
“Good point,” Randall conceded. “Let’s hurry. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Chapter Four

2006-08-10T13:25:00.000-04:00

“Good morning. Oh,” Harry stopped short just inside the breakfast room, “Where’s your Aunt Harriet?”
“She has a headache this morning,” Randall explained. “She decided to have breakfast in her room.” He waited until Louis finished serving Harry, and had retreated back into the kitchen before saying, “So, have you thought any more about what we found yesterday?”
“Yes. I didn’t come up with anything. I think I’ll try a different angle today. There are lots of other ideas to follow up on.”
“For instance?”
“Well, for instance, I asked Larry yesterday find out as much as he could about William and maybe what book he is holding in the portrait. He promised to leave the information on his desk in the library, so I want to look at that first thing after breakfast. I also want to poke around the courtyard to see if there’s anything out there, but not while someone else is watching me. Does Diane work out there all the time?”
“No, Diane only comes here Monday, Wednesday and Saturday,” Randall replied. “Today’s Thursday, so she won’t be here today or tomorrow. Also Cole doesn’t usually bother much about the courtyard, so you should be fairly safe from him. Have a care though, most of the bedrooms overlook the area.”
“In other words, make sure your aunt doesn’t happen to look out the window just when I’m about to discover the treasure?” Harry asked with an arch smile.
“Precisely,” Randall returned.
They finished breakfast shortly, and afterwards made their way to the second floor of the library where Larry had set up his work station among several other desks, both old and new.
“Ah, here it is,” Harry said walking over to Larry’s desk and retrieving the paper. They descended to the reading area on the first floor and sat down. “William Greystone,” he read, “lived from 1679 to 1750, the last brother surviving. He was the author of several books, including several in this library.”
“That’s why he’s holding a book in his portrait,” Randall interrupted. “If they were all painted doing their favorite things, then the book he is holding must be one he wrote. Do you think he left a clue to the treasure in one of his books?”
“Could be,” Harry said setting down the paper. “It’s also possible that one of these writing desks here once belonged to William.”
“The only one it could be is a large, built-in one upstairs. The others are much too modern to have been his.”
Harry and Randall ascended the spiral stairs in the corner of the library to look at the desk. It was obviously very old and was ornamented with carving along the top. To each side of the desk was attached a bookshelf.
“Of course!” Randall pointed to the artwork on top. The letters W.G. were carved into the twisted ivy design. “I wondered who the desk belonged to. I never realized what the letters stood for.”
“Seeing as how the desk is built right into the wall, it would be ensured to last for a long time, along with any secrets it holds,” Harry commented. “This desk might just hold a clue.” Harry began pulling out the drawers. Most were empty, but some contained a few items. “Check for false bottoms in all of them, you never know where things might have been hidden.”
Randall knelt down to do as Harry asked, while the detective began to examine the remaining framework. As he was studying the upper half, he discovered a small knob behind where one of the drawers had been. The knob was no bigger than a dime. He gave it a pull. Nothing happened. He twisted it. Still nothing. Pushing it, he heard a soft ‘clunk’. Randall looked up.
“What’d you do?”
“I pushed a knob.”
“The artwork moved!” Randall exclaimed. A tiny door had opened partially. Excitedly, Randall opened it further and reached in to narrow opening. He pulled out a book.
“It’s the one William’s holding in his portrait!” Randall carefully set it down and opened the cover. The entry was written in a flowing cursive style. Slowly, Randall read it aloud, tilting the book in the light to make out each faded word.

To future treasure seekers,
I congratulate you on happening upon the secret to my desk and hence, discovering this book. These pages will be essential in leading you to the treasure hidden by my brothers and I. If you have the skills to find this treasure, you assuredly are worthy to possess it. To begin your quest, you must discover the door to our hiding place. Enclosed is the key needed to unlock the entrance. My brothers also, each in turn, will disclose the keys to their share in this puzzle. May good fortune shine on your efforts.
William Greystone

Randall looked up, his eyes wide with an excitement he was scarcely able to contain. “So there really is a treasure!”
“Let’s see what the other brothers wrote,” Harry said. Randall turned each page as he came across the inscriptions made by each of his ancestors.

As William has said, if you wish to find our treasure you will need to gather our keys to unlock the doors protecting it. For my part, you must find my favorite on my favorite, and use it with this combination: G8, F6, E4, D6.
Walter Greystone

For those who desire my key, you must first stop the springing forth, then you may have that which is near to my heart.
Charles Greystone

My key takes time to obtain. Ascend to the very top of my tower, and look behind that which counts the basis of time. With time, opportunity will permit you to acquire my key.
Thomas Greystone

As a carver, where would it be proper for me to hide my key? Unless perhaps it was hidden in something wooden. Why not a wooden key? But of course you must know that I would not hide anything quite so unique and fragile in a place that I did not create.
Edmund Greystone

I am not very good with riddles, but I shall try my best. Amongst my collections are six metallic patchwork mosaics. Only one is needed to unlock, but the other five are a part of it. Also if you find our riddles too puzzling, our portraits will also help you find our keys.
Richard Greystone

Ah, but there is still one more thing you must know if you wish to find our treasure, and that is our signs.

“You know, those symbols look familiar," Randall said, pointing to the marks below the last inscription, "but I can’t think where I’ve seen them." Harry turned a few more blank pages, and found that the remainder of the book had a large hole cut through the rest of the pages. Resting in the hole was a key. Randall reached down and picked it up. It was a metal skeleton key, and was roughly the size of a person’s open hand.
“William’s key,” he said breathlessly. “Now what should we do?”
Harry quickly tried to organized his thoughts. “I think we should look for Thomas’ key first. We’ll have to go back to the top of the tower, and ‘look behind that which counts the basis of time.’ And we have to study his picture closely. Richard wrote that there were hints to the keys in the portraits.”
“That which counts the basis of time; the basis of time. What is the basis of time? Something that can be counted,” Randall muttered to himself.
Harry caught on. “The basis of time. It would be something that other things are based on. A day? Years are based on days.”
“And days are based on hours, which are based on minutes, which are based on seconds.”
“A second? We have to look behind a second?”
“No, we have to ‘look behind that which counts’ a second.”
“And what counts a second?” Harry said encouragingly.
“The pendulum!
“And behind it would be that section of stones that moved! What else did he say? ‘With time, opportunity will permit you to acquire my key.’ Opportunity is something that only happens during a certain time.”
“So maybe we can only move those stones at a certain time? What time?”
“Come on, let’s put these drawers back. I have an idea.”

2006-08-01T14:43:00.000-04:00

This is a shot of the museum taken from the driveway. The window in the bottom left is Louis' office. The front door is to the left just out of sight.

Chapter Three

2006-06-27T11:59:00.000-04:00

“Could I ask a favor?” Harry walked up to Louis who he had found in the museum writing in a notebook.

“Why certainly, what can I do for you?”

“I’m just busting with curiosity about this museum. Could I look around in here sometime?”

“Oh, I can do better than that,” Louis said closing his book. “The museum is closed today, but if you’d like, I can give you a private tour.”

“Would you? Oh, that’d be fabulous.”

“I have a few things to finish with. Meet me at the front desk in just a few minutes.”

* * * * *

“This exhibit consists of extremely rare and unique pieces.” Louis directed Harry’s attention to a case filled with pieces of armor. “We have been having a rather difficult time finding history on these. For instance, this dagger; its design is unlike any previously known. There is a small catch where the blade meets the handle. If it’s pushed in, the blade is released revealing several prongs. Our best guess is that the blade can be released for cleaning.”

Harry looked through the glass as Louis described with rehearsed accuracy various other pieces of a soldier’s kit. Helmets, shields, a small silver belt-buckle, shoulder-clasps and a drinking horn were among the effects. A metal sceptre with curiously-wrought designs carved on the handle lay next to a plaque explaining the belief that it belonged to a British chieftain that lived between 270-350 AD.

“This collection of coins,” Harry’s guide went on as he continued to the case in the center of the room, “dates all the way back to 61 AD. Considering their condition, they are worth a notable amount today. I don’t pretend to be an expert on the subject, but my friends do say I have quite an eye for old coins.”

Harry followed him as he spoke. On display in the case were a score of old coins, from gold and silver to less precious metals. “Which is that?” he asked.

“Which is what?” Louis said switching out of auto-pilot.

“The one that’s from 61 AD.”

“Oh, this silver one. It is imprinted with the image of Boudicca, who was queen of Iceni.”

“The who?”

“The Iceni. This coin represents the period of our history known as Celtic Britain. It was before the Romans came to power. All of Britain was divided into tribal territories. Each tribe had a monarch. Boudicca was queen of a tribe called the Iceni and ruled the territory from modern-day Norfolk to northwest Suffolk. Their capital city was really just a small, walled town called Venta Icenorvm. The only known industry of the Iceni was ceramics, but we haven’t any examples here in our museum, just the coins.”

“What are these other coins?”

“This one is quite old.” Louis pointed to another silver coin with the Caesar-like image of a man.

“It dates from 383 AD, during the reign of Magnus Maximus, Emperor of Britain. It is his image on the face. And this one,” he said moving further, “is from Post-Roman times. We’re pretty sure it was coined during the time of King Arthur, though we haven’t got a precise date.”

They continued to move through the museum’s several rooms, viewing jewelry and other ornate items, such as daggers and goblets. Among all the valuable artifacts, Harry noticed a plain wooden goblet unadorned by anything but carved artwork on the stem.

“This seems a little out of place among so many elaborate cups,” said the inquisitive detective.

“Yes, but this is the only exhibit with similar items.”

“Where did it come from? I mean, if it’s in a museum, it must have some history.”

Harry’s guide was at a loss. “No one seems to have any idea where it originated. It doesn’t seem to belong, but there is really no other place to display it.”

“You certainly have all the information about those exhibits memorized,” Harry commented to Louis as they returned to the main room of the museum.

“I forget a few things occasionally, so I try to keep my notebook with me when I give the tours. Though I must say I would much rather be curator of my own museum. Who knows?” he said with a smile. “Someday I might.”

“That must take a great deal of capital I imagine,” Harry commented.

“To be sure it does, but I expect to come in to a tidy bit soon. If you will excuse me I must go and help Patrick get ready for dinner.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, in the kitchen. Dinner is at six.”

Louis walked away leaving Harry in the main room of the museum. There was an information desk along one wall. A small computer sat on top and brochures were stacked near the edge. Harry took one and pocketed it. A large display with a miniature map of the museum and its tower dominated the center of the room. Seeing nothing else he could do here, Harry decided to find out if Randall was back, so that he might search the clock tower for clues.

* * * * *

“It won’t do any good. I’ve already looked in there.” Harry had come upon his young friend reading in the parlor and immediately presented him with a plan to search the tower.

“All the same, I would feel better if I searched the tower for myself.”

“You’re the detective. Maybe you will find something that I missed,” Randall said setting his book aside and standing up. “It’s this way. Oh,” he paused, “there’s no electricity. I’ll have to get a torch.”

“A torch,” Harry said, envisioning Randall lighting their way with a fiery blazing wand.

“Flashlight. Whatever you call it.” They went to the utility room and obtained two high-power flashlights and then proceeded to the tower. Entering a small chamber just outside the base of the tower, Randall retrieved a key from a nearby shelf and unlocked the door leading inside. A strong, musty smell overpowered the two as they opened it. The clock tower itself was five stories, as were the other three towers, but the fifth story of this one was twice as high as the others for it housed the face of a huge clock and all its inner workings.

The bottom four floors were all the same; there was a small hallway with a staircase leading up, and a door leading to the room on each floor, with the exception of the second floor which also had and entrance back to the castle. Although it was locked and obviously hadn’t been used for many years. The first two floors were filled with boxes, chairs and tables, and were used primarily as storage rooms. The third floor was also a storage room, but it was extremely dusty, and contained various parts for clocks, obviously a room Thomas had used for his clock-making. There were shelves and tables filled with pendulums, springs, gears, faces, cogs, and keys of all sorts and sizes. Empty sconces hung on the walls where candles once provided light.

Harry went to work examining the walls, floor, and ceiling, but everything was sealed and nailed in place tightly. He probed around the tables and shelves, but they were also solid.

“Nothing on this floor,” he announced after several minutes, “but I’m guessing this was the workshop Thomas used.”

“Oh, no,” Randall corrected. “This was merely his storage room for parts and things. His workshop is upstairs on the next floor.”

“Oh, fine,” Harry said in a why-didn’t-you-say-so-before voice. “Well then, I guess I’m done here. Let’s go see what the workshop holds.” When Randall opened the door to the workshop, Harry found that no flashlight was needed in this room. On all sides, large windows near the ceiling allowed in great amounts of sunlight. A rusty, iron chandelier hung from the ceiling to provide light, but its use had been discontinued. Several half-finished clocks lay about on tables, surrounded by broken parts, tools, and an assortment of other things. Clock casings filled the shelves along one wall, while a shelf along another wall held clocks that were apparently used for parts. A grandfather-style clock stood in one corner next to a large bookshelf containing dozens of dusty books.

“Oh, I think I’m going to have a headache,” Harry said.

“I’ve already looked at all the clock casings and through all the books over there,” Randall offered. “I didn’t find anything even remotely interesting.”

“Alright then,” Harry said. “Go ahead and check out the grandfather clock there, and I’ll check around for any hidden spaces.”

It was an hour before Harry and Randall stood back to survey the room once more. The floor, walls, and ceiling had been tapped to find hidden doors, the clocks had been minutely examined, and the chandelier thoroughly inspected.

“That was discouraging. I guess there’s nothing on this floor either.” Randall said when they had finished. He looked at his watch. “It’s five-thirty. We just have time to clean up before dinner and we can tackle the big clock afterwards.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Harry agreed.

* * * * *

Shortly after dinner, Randall and Harry entered the room at the top of the tower. The place was incredible. Massive gears turned slowly on their axles. A large pendulum almost twice as tall as Harry swung rapidly back and forth a few feet out from one wall, ticking off each second in deep thudding tones. The face of the clock filled one wall and was made of a frosty glass, allowing some light to filter in. A large spotlight hanging above the treasure hunters had recently been added to create a backlight for the face during the night. A large gong and mechanical hammer hung along another wall. Harry was stunned by the fantastic engineering.

“How is it kept running?” Harry asked after a few minutes.

Randall smiled. “This contraption here is responsible for that,” he said pointing near the door. A large wind-up spring hung from the wall, and several gears of various sizes ran down to a big lever. “When you pull on this lever,” he explained, “it turns the gears which are set up to magnify the pulling power, and re-wind the spring up there. That is the clock’s mainspring. You have to pull the lever back and forth quite a few times, but once it is completely wound up, it will work for a week or so before needing to be wound again. Cole makes sure the clock is always running.” Harry idly stepped over and pulled on the lever. It moved with incredible ease.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, “I thought it would have been a lot harder than that!”

“No,” Randall chuckled, “it’s geared down so much that it will convert just a little effort into a lot of turning power, but it also means you have to pull the lever numerous times. Wait a second.” He walked over to the gong and pulled out a little lever. “Now it won’t ring on the hour. It’s incredibly loud in here when it does.”

“Truly amazing,” Harry commented. “Now let’s turn back to the task at hand and find some treasure. We obviously can’t reach the ceiling, so why don’t we check out the floor first, and then the walls?” The floor appeared to be solid, but the two were eager to find something unusual and remained dogged in their search. After nearly an hour on their knees, Harry’s back ached from bending for so long. He sat back against the door and looked up at the workings of the clock. His eyes followed the movement of the gears. Starting at the face of the clock, he watched as one gear turned another until he was watching the slow movement of the pendulum.

Randall glanced up to see him staring intently. “What’re you looking at?”

“Look at that wall behind the pendulum.”

“Where?”

Harry got up and walked across the small room. The pendulum swung back and forth between himself and the wall, where a roughly one-foot-square section of the stones seemed to be unattached to the rest of the wall. There was no mortar around the segment.

“Look. Right there.” He traced the outline of the section with his finger. “How do we get this thing to stop swinging?”

“Uh, one of the gears connecting it to the spring would need to slide out of line. Here.” Randall found one gear that had been made with a short handle across one side. He gave a tug on the handle, and the pendulum, robbed of its power, slowed to a stop.

Harry gave a push on the wall. “No, nothing’s happening.”

“Well, maybe we should push harder,” came the reply.

Randall walked over and braced himself with Harry against the small stone section of the wall. They pushed, but it moved only a fraction of a hair, like it was being held in place by something. “I think we just found something,” Harry said.

“Yeah, but what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s try again.” This time, each stood with his back to the other and braced a shoulder against the wall. Putting all their weight against it, they tried again.

Still nothing.

“Should I get a crowbar?” Randall offered.

“No, we might damage something important,” Harry said. “If it is important, there must be some kind of a catch or lock somewhere that will open this up.”

“Oh come on! How would we ever find it? I’ve already been over the clock lots of times,” Randall complained.

Harry thought for a moment. “We’ve been looking for something that was hidden. If there is a catch to open this thing, it could be hidden in plain sight. Anyone who knows as little about clocks as I do would have a tough time telling the difference between gears used to run the clock and gears used to open this wall.”

Once again they investigated the clock, but this time they observed the machine’s workings. After a few minutes Randall spoke up. “The only thing that seems to me even remotely unusual, is that the axle the pendulum swings on runs into the wall about three feet above that section of stone.”

“That’s not much to go on. Anyway, it’s getting late,” Harry said. “We should probably get to bed and sleep on it. Maybe we’ll think of something tomorrow.”

Randall slid the handled gear back into place, and the two gave the pendulum a hard shove to get it going again. After replacing the lever for the gong, they descended the stairs. Randall locked the door to the tower, and they retired to their rooms.

Chapter Two

2006-06-21T08:35:00.000-04:00

“Good morning! Sleep well?” Randall asked cheerily when Louis and Harry entered the breakfast room. Louis continued on through another door and soon re-appeared with a tray of coffee, eggs, and bacon.
“Just fine thanks, though I did hear some weird sounds, probably just my imagination.” Harry seated himself in a chair near Randall as Louis served the meal. Harry poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Aunt Harriet, this is Harry Thorton,” Randall said addressing a woman seated at the opposite end of the table. She had dark brown hair, which she wore pulled back from her face, and a pair of steel-rimmed glasses.
“Harry, this is my aunt, Harriet Saunders. Harry is here on business, but has accepted my invitation to stay here for a few days.”
“A pleasure to meet you Mr. Thorton,” Harriet said.
“The pleasure is mine.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Harry,” Randall said turning to the detective, “but I’m afraid I won’t be able to show you around the castle today like I’d hoped. I have several errands to take care of in town. You may have the run of the place. Is that all right, Aunt Harriet?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said with a little sniff, and the adjustment of her glasses. “But don’t break anything, don’t leave things lying about for others to pick up, and stay out of the way of the museum tours.”
“Yes ma’am, I’ll try,” replied Harry.
“No, you will succeed, ” she said correctively. “Now I must be off, I’ve other things to do than chatting with you two.” With that, she rose and left the room.
“How old is she? 200?” Harry whispered to Randall
“No, she’s not that old really, only in her thirties. She’s stiff sometimes, but don’t mind her.” Randall finished off the last of his eggs and rose from his chair. “I am sorry, but I must be going too. Enjoy your stay, and watch out for Aunt Harriet!”
“I have great hopes of doing so,” Harry muttered to himself.

* * * * *

That afternoon Harry found himself speaking in the library with Larry.
“So, Randall tells me your a researcher. What sort of things do you research?” Harry inquired.
“Nothing in particular, but he is right. There is little else I enjoy more than discovering the origin and history of things,” Larry replied. He was a small man in his mid-twenties. He had light brown hair and a moustache that made him look like a history teacher.
“Well, what sorts of things?”
“Just things really--antique furniture, local customs and cultures, family genealogies.”
“Really,” Harry sounded impressed. “Have you studied those men whose paintings hang in the Great Hall?”
“Only Richard. Since most of my work concerns the museum and his collections, I never had reason to find out about the others.”
“That’s too bad,” Harry said a bit dismayed. “I was curious about the man William. I can see what everyone else’s interests were just by looking at the portraits, but it only shows him holding a book. Was he a writer?”
“I could find out about him if you like,” Larry said with a sparkle of enthusiasm in his voice.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work.”
“No, not at all! It’ll be great. I’ve wanted to have an excuse for it anyway, and this will give me some motivation. I won’t be here tomorrow, so whatever I find I’ll leave on the desk here.”
“Thank you very much. You’re most kind,” Harry said and left the library.

* * * * *

Wandering around the castle, Harry soon came to a wooden door leading to the courtyard from one of the corridors off the Great Hall. A large fountain dominated the center of the yard, and ivy covered much of the walls. Various well-trimmed plants dotted the grounds. A blonde woman in her thirties came out of a greenhouse which stretched the entire length of the opposite wall. She wore a gardening apron over her green blouse and blue jeans, and carried a notepad in one hand.
“Hello there!” Harry called out. “You must be Diane.”
“Yes, I am,” she said as she took Harry’s outstretched hand. “Diane Renninger. And your name is?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry apologized. “Harry Thorton. I’m a friend of Randall’s. He’s invited me to spend a few days with him while I’m in the area.”
“So, what are you doing here?”
Harry didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected the sudden question and was caught off guard.
“I mean, your accent gives you away. You obviously don’t live around here. You’re touring the country maybe? Delving into the history of the place? Or do you appreciate the variety of art and fine music our little town provides?”
Now Harry realized she was teasing him. “Actually I’m on business,” he replied, “but I couldn’t say no to staying in a castle for a few days before leaving again. You must enjoy it.”
“Oh no, I don’t live here,” Diane explained. “Mrs. Saunders has agreed to let me study the plants here in the courtyard and the conservatory over there, but I live in town. Personally, I think the botany would make a fantastic addition to the museum here.”
“But the museum is all the way over in the west wing,” Harry interjected.
“Yes I know, but that door over there,” she indicated with her pen a second wooden door near the one Harry had come through a moment ago, “is a corridor which comes out on the outside of the castle. If there were a path from the public gardens to the corridor, no one would have to go through the private rooms of the castle.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Harry commented approvingly.
“Yes, I thought so,” Diane said. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to work.”
Lacking a set purpose, Harry wandered through the door and down the corridor Diane had pointed out, and meandered across the grounds for some time. It was a clear day and Harry spent some time walking through the gardens and inspecting the shrubs and flowering plants. Harry found that the gardener was fond of green plants, for there were several corners of the garden in which there were no flowers to be seen. He discovered a shady walkway which was sheltered by evergreens on both sides. Harry walked along this path for some time until he came to a stone statue in the center of a small courtyard. The evergreens gave way to high hedges which bordered the walkway in French Renaissance style. Several stone seats which would invite a person to rest sat along this neatly trimmed wall. He sat down and began thinking over what Randall had told him.
A little speckled wren landed on a nearby bench. The little bird hopped along, paying no attention at all to Harry, affording him someone to talk to.
“If the treasure had been hidden by men who had lived centuries ago, it would have to be in a place that would ensure its secrecy. Surely it could not simply be buried in the ground. Most of the outbuildings were modern structures, and it could not be hidden in them.”
The wren suddenly took flight and landed on the statue a few feet away.
“It must be inside the house somewhere. But where in the house could you hide a treasure and be sure no one would find it accidentally?”
His new feathered friend looked curiously at him from the shoulder of the statue and, as though concluding that there was no help to give, swiftly took flight and disappeared among the bushes.
Harry turned his eyes from where the bird had disappeared back to the statue. It was a life-sized image with a medallion necklace draped around its shoulders.
Curiosity won out and Harry rose to look more closely at the medallion. As he tried to lift the heavy chain, he noticed a stone bar on the back of the statue. It ran from the back of the head to the shoulders down between the shoulders, securing the bronze chain from being removed. Thinking the face looked familiar, Harry thought it must be one of Randall’s ancestors whose picture had been in the hall. He made a mental note to ask him about it and turned to leave the garden.
Harry wandered along the edge of the property until he came to a wide clear lake. Finding how far he had walked wrapped in his thoughts, he turned to make his way back to the house when he spotted a dock. As Harry walked closer, he saw a big fellow in hip waders repairing a piling for the dock. A golf cart was parked at the edge of the lake, with a toolbox resting on the seat.
“Watch out for sharks!” Harry called out, coming nearer to the cart.
The man looked up from his work and grinned. “There are no sharks in this lake. We’d surely know about it. Besides, it’s freshwater. You know, visitors aren’t allowed down here by the lake. You should get back to the museum.”
“Oh, I’m not a visitor,” Harry said. “That is, I am a visitor, but not to the museum. Randall invited me to stay a few days with him.”
“Oh in that case, let me introduce myself,” the man said wading out of the water. He extended a large hand to Harry. “Cole Evers. Resident repairman, groundskeeper, and as needed, a chauffeur.”
“Harry Thorton.”
“Go ahead and keep talking.” Cole said. “I’m going work on this piling.”
“This is quite a set of wheels you’ve got here.” Harry nodded his head toward the golf cart.
The man grinned again. “It gets me around faster than walking.”
“Might I use it sometime?”
“Sure, it’ll be in the shed anytime you need it. Just make sure you plug the battery in so it charges again.”
“Worked here long?” Harry asked.
“Oh, about sixteen years.”
“Do you know who was here before you?”
“As far as I know, no one. But if there was, he did a terrible job let me tell you. Everything was dilapidated and grown over when I got here. Well, that’s that,” Cole said when he finished repairing the piling, “I’ll have to talk to Randall sometime about replacing some of these planks. I can give you a ride back up to the house if you want.”
“I’d appreciate it.” A few minutes later Harry was sitting at a small round table in his room, turning on his laptop. “Where to go from here?” he thought to himself. “Those brothers must have left clues. If they did, they would want to make sure they lasted a long time.” He opened a blank document and typed in six names, leaving a space under each one.
“Let’s see, Walter’s hobby was chess.” He started typing under Walter’s name. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for anything that’s really old and concerns chess. Charles. Hmm. The statue in the courtyard looks just like him. Maybe that’s where he did his gardening. He couldn’t have left any clues in the plants. They’d have died by now. Oh, gravy! I hope he didn’t really bury anything. The statue, the fountain, and the conservatory--they look like they’ve been here a while. I should probably check them out, and maybe the walls around the courtyard.” He looked at the next name on his list. “Edmond was a carver so any work he did that’s still around, and any workshop that he had needs to be checked into as well. Hmm, nothing on William yet.” He moved down the list again to Thomas’ name. “A clock maker, huh? I hope I don’t have to look inside all the clocks in the castle. Wait a minute,” he murmured. Harry got up to walk across the room. A high tower caught his eye as he peered through the window. An immense clock in the tower slowly counted the time. “A clock tower. Definitely worth investigating.” He returned to his laptop. “And last, but not least, Richards collections. Maybe I should find Louis and start with a look around the museum.” He saved his notes, put away the computer, and went in search of Louis.

Chapter One

2006-05-01T12:08:00.000-04:00

"Harrison Thorton to see Mr. Randall Greystone by appointment."
"Yes, Mr. Greystone said you would arrive today. Right this way please." The butler of the castle ushered Harry through the Great Hall, an enormous room with a vaulted ceiling, and into the parlor. There a young man in his late teens sat in a soft wingback chair facing the fireplace.
“Mr. Thorton to see you, sir,” the butler said entering the room.
“Thank you, Louis. Please sit down.” He gestured to one of the chairs in the room. “And welcome to Greystone Castle. Tea?”
“Please.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Sugar, but maybe I should do it. I’m told I use an offensive amount.” Young Greystone passed him the steaming cup and Harry measured out a generous helping of sweetener. Tasting it, he sat down in a comfortable chair across from his host.
“Now let’s get straight to business.”
“Right. When I talked to you on the phone, I asked you to find a lost family treasure. The last person to see it died in 1783.”
“Well then,” Harry said with a tone of irony, “I guess I won’t be able to ask them where they last put it.”
“No indeed,” Randall smiled. Then somewhat hesitantly he continued. “I failed to inform you that for the last hundred and fifty years most of the family has considered it to be just a myth.”
Harry set down his cup and looked hard at him for a moment. Randall felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Harry sat back suddenly and gave his host a half-smile. “Then it looks like we have a legend to prove.”
“Thank you,” Randall said breathing an inward sigh of relief. “Now, please, call me Randall.”
“And I’m Harry.” He picked up his cup again. “Now, what is this story of a lost treasure?”
“I think you should know that there is someone else here that believes in the treasure, though I’m not sure who.”
“Why do you think so?”
“There’ve been some unusual,” he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “accidents; the motorboat stopping out in the middle of the lake for no reason, broken water pipes, severed power lines. It’s like someone is trying to get me to leave. They are all repaired now, but still . . . Maybe they believe if I’m gone, it would be easier to search, or something like that.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Harry commented. “But tell me about the treasure.”
“In 1698,” Randall began, “six of my ancestors, brothers, built Greystone Castle. There are portraits of them hanging in the Great Hall, along with one of each person who has inherited this castle. The brother’s names were Richard, the eldest, then Walter, Thomas, Edmond, Charles, and William. Allegedly, they hid this treasure somewhere on the property, and for three hundred years it has remained hidden. Now it’s existence is very much doubted. My aunt, Harriet, is guardian of the property until I come of age. She does not believe any of it.”
“When do you come of age?” Harry asked.
“According to my father’s will, when I’m twenty-one. I’m eighteen now.”
“Why exactly do you want to find this treasure?” Harry probed. “You don’t seem to need the money or the acclaim of society. If everyone thinks it’s a wild goose chase, why bother?”
Randall’s face fell. “Do you think it’s a waste of time?”
Harry didn’t say anything. He was thinking.
“I want to find the treasure to prove to my aunt that it is real. I know she thinks it’s silly, but I wanted to prove that I could do it,” the young man explained.
Harry was still silent.
“You see, I want to go to college and study business administration, but Aunt Harriet thinks it’ll be too hard for me, so I won’t put my mind to it. She also thinks it would be a waste of time and money.” Randall spoke quickly, She won’t let me go unless I can prove to her that I can finish what I start, that I can accomplish something if I really want to. If I find the treasure, it will show her that I can do what I put my mind to.” He paused. “Do you think it’s a waste of time?”
“No, I don’t. If finding it means so much, I’m sure you’ll succeed. I don’t think the treasure is a myth, and if your Aunt Harriet does, then this may be the perfect way to prove what you can do.”
Randall set down his cup. “My aunt,” he said hesitatingly, “isn’t going to appreciate a . . . nosy houseguest.” When Harry didn’t reply, he continued, “She may be a bit of an obstacle.”
“I see.”
“One you may wish to avoid,” the boy said with a grim smile.
“Obstacles are intended to be surmounted,” Harry said, smiling back.
“I’ve told her that you are a friend I met while I was in the States. As long as we are on the subject, let me tell you who else you will encounter here,” Randall began. “Louis is the butler and museum guide. The maids--”
“Museum guide?” Harry interrupted, surprised.
“Oh, yes. You see,” said his host as he poured another cup of tea, “the oldest of the brothers I mentioned, Richard? Well, he was always collecting things. He was a collector of collections you might say. He set aside the castle’s west wing and its adjoining tower to house all the things he had acquired. In 1905, Peter Greystone, my great-great-great-grandfather decided to make it into a museum which the general public would be permitted to come and see along with some of the grounds. Also an estate this large and old requires a bit of money to keep running. There are the rental properties of course, but this helps us keep on top of things.”
“Interesting.”
“Quite. Now where was I? The maids. Becky and Ellie are the only two we have. Cole is our sort of the all-around repairman and groundskeeper. He is responsible for maintaining all the plants and for keeping everything in the castle running smoothly. Then there’s the chef, Patrick. He’s been with us for about four months I think. Our former cook was getting older and so he retired. There’s also Diane. She’s not employed here,” Randall explained. “She’s here researching the different plants in the conservatory and gardens for a magazine article. Almost every plant has been cross-bred. Am I forgetting anyone? Uh, oh yes, Larry. He researches stuff. I don’t know exactly what, just about everything, I guess. He has helped us in learning the history of some of the museum exhibits. He is normally in either the library or the museum.”
“That’s a few people to remember,” Harry declared.
“You’ll remember them all once you meet them,” Randall paused. “Any questions?”
“The museum; do the two girls clean it?”
“No, we have an arrangement with a cleaning service in town. They come in on Thursday afternoons. Otherwise, the maids would have more work than they could handle alone.”
“Do you have many visitors?” Harry asked.
“Most of the time, yes. Not often during the winter, but in spring when the weather is nice, we have a lot of tourists come down. London is only a half-hour’s drive, but it’s really only those who are on a long holiday. Most people want to see other things.”
“Have you noticed anyone coming repeatedly to see the museum?”
“Oh, I don’t spend much time there. As I said, Louis gives the tours. You might ask him if he’s noticed anyone with a particular interest in the exhibits.”
“I’ll do that.”
Randall hadn’t thought about the fact that practically anyone searching for the treasure could gain access to his home through the museum. This interrogation was beginning to make him nervous. “Anything else?”
“I’d like to change into something more casual since I’m here for pleasure and not business.”
“Come on. I’ll show you where your room is,” Randall grinned. As they passed through the Great Hall to head upstairs, Harry paused to look at the portraits. Six were hung collectively and noticeably apart from the others.
“Are these the brothers you mentioned?” Harry inquired.
“Yes, that’s Walter. He was fascinated by the game of chess, and had his portrait painted with his favorite chess board. What is now the ballroom used to house a life-sized chess set. The floor tiles are all either black or white, and most of the pieces sit along the walls. Actually, Edmond had the set made for him,” he said, motioning to the next portrait, “and put the final touches on himself. Edmond was a skilled carver, and had his portrait painted while standing at the end of the stairs next to one of the railing posts, which he carved himself. Richard, as you see, had his done while in a personal museum he created from artifacts he had collected. Thomas over there was a clock maker.”
“Did they even have clocks back then?” Harry asked.
“Oh sure. The first pendulum clock was invented by a guy named Huygens in 1656. Before pendulum clocks were around, a German named Peter Henlein came up with a spring-powered clock around 1510, but it wasn’t real accurate. The first clock with a minute hand was invented by Jost Burgi in 1577, but pendulum clocks didn’t have a minute hand until the turn of the century.” He grinned at Harry’s quizzical look. “There’s an exhibit in the museum with lots of clocks. It’s really interesting. You should check it out sometime.”
“The clock in that picture was one of the ones he made himself?”
“Right. The south tower was his workshop,” Randall replied, “and you can probably guess from this painting that Charles was the avid gardener.”
“Where did you find out so much about these men?”
“Oh, its been passed down through the family as a sort of remembrance of them, seeing as how they gave us Greystones such a big inheritance. One of my ancestors wrote all the information down in a book in the library, to help make sure nothing would get changed around through the years. The story of the treasure was passed along too, just not as prominently.
“I see. What about this man here?” Harry indicated the last painting.
“No one has quite been able to figure out what William’s hobby was. You can see he’s sitting at a desk holding a book, but what it is I don’t have a clue. Anyway, and let’s go get you settled in.” Randall led the way upstairs and down the hall to the right. Harry’s room was situated on the northwest side of the house, with windows overlooking the courtyard.
“I believe you have everything you’ll need here,” Randall said when they came in the room. “Louis will come by at eight tomorrow to show you the way to the breakfast room. By the way, I see no need to announce to everyone on a soapbox why you’re here. If anyone were to ask, I thought it would be best to tell them all that you’re a friend I made during my visit to the States last fall. Is that alright?”
“Sounds fine to me.”
“Good. I’ll see you at breakfast. Good night.”
Harry closed the door and started to unpack. A large wardrobe and dresser rested along the left wall, and a big old-fashioned four-poster bed and a nightstand were on the opposite side of the room. A window on each side of the bed overlooked the courtyard, and the glowing face of the castle’s clock tower was visible higher up. A fireplace dominated the wall to the right. Near it sat a small round table and a wingback chair. Harry deposited his laptop and plugged in the charger.

Coming Soon!

2006-04-21T06:55:00.000-04:00

Randall tiptoed down the corridor and peeked around the corner into the main hall. Pale moonlight poured in through the windows that rattled in the blowing wind and rain. Though he was sure he had heard footsteps, there was no one in sight. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch him. Ashes swirled in the fireplace, as if stirred by an invisible force. It was just the wind from the chimney, but somehow, that thought did little to reassure the half-sleeping young man. He reached his hand across the wall and turned on the switch. Darkness. The storm must've caused the power to go out.

Suddenly, he didn't care . . .