Tuckerman nodded. “It might have been so. Perhaps he, or James Sampson, even expected the men in the boat that was waiting off shore to find where Sampson hid the chest.”
“But why all this puzzle then about the pieces of parchment Ben found in the house?” asked David.
“Well, I’ll admit,” said Tuckerman with a smile, “that it’s not as clear as a pikestaff. Only Sir Peter does seem to have liked his joke. However, the bacon’s sizzling.” Brandishing a fork in his hand, he bent over the frying pan.
That afternoon Tuckerman said that he had an important letter to mail, and the campers sailed to Barmouth. Tuckerman went to the post-office, and each of the boys dropped in on his family. Ben had a chat with his mother, then told her he must do an errand. This took him into a side street, where there were a number of small, unpretentious shops.
He stopped before a window that was filled with old furniture, andirons, odds and ends of china. He opened the door, and a little bell tinkled somewhere back in the house, and after a moment a small, wizened-faced man, wearing a big blue checked apron, came into the room.
“Afternoon, Mr. Haskins,” said Ben.
“It’s Ben Sully, ain’t it?” said the proprietor. “Well, are you goin’ to get married, an’ want a nice set of furniture to go to housekeepin’ with?”
“Not to-day, Mr. Haskins.” Ben acknowledged the joke with a grin. “No, sir, I’m more interested just as present in what you call antiques.”
“Antiques, eh? Well, what was you thinkin’ of wantin’? I’ve some nice three-legged kettles, a soup tureen that came over in the Mayflower, an ivory back-scratcher that hails from India. Just look about, an’ tell me what you want.”
“I want you to tell me something about this.” Ben put his hand in his pocket and drew out the snuffbox he had taken from the Cotterell chest.