“That’s got to come into it somehow,” he admitted to himself. “But I can’t see the relevancy as it stands. For where the treasure lies, there will your heart be also. It sounds like the only straight tip in the whole business—the key to the affair. But what the devil can it mean, exactly? It’s very vague as it stands.”
Feeling sure that up to that point he had been on the right track, he went over each link in his chain of thought; and then, in a flash, he saw what he had previously missed.
“That’s it! Of course, the other text ought to have put me on the track. He wasn’t so bemused after all, that old bird! A deuced good mnemonic—once one has the key. Now it all depends on one point. I’d better leave the old man alone. He’s getting a bit tired of questions. I’ll get hold of Eric. He’s likely to know.”
Luck was in Westenhanger’s way that morning. He discovered Eric Dangerfield sitting reading on one of the lawns, at no great distance from the house. His ankle was still weak and kept him tethered within a short radius.
Westenhanger did not plunge immediately into the subject which interested him, though he had little fear of arousing any suspicion in Eric’s mind. He was sure that at this time he had out-distanced the Dangerfields completely, and was nearer the solution of their family mystery than they themselves had ever been. Luck had stood him in good stead.
At last he led the conversation round to the point.
“I suppose you’ve made very few changes in Friocksheim in the last hundred years—electric light, and so on, of course; but a lot of furniture seems good old stuff.”
Eric nodded.
“We’re a conservative lot,” he said.
“That’s a good bit of tapestry in the Corinthian’s Room. I suppose it’s hung there for long enough?”