The Tickencote Treasure

by William Le Queux

He had taken some whisky and water with his uncle, and left about ten, without saying in what direction he was going or explaining all that he had found out.

He told his uncle, however, to inform me to be forewarned of a man named Bennett, and had explained his silence by saying that at present it was not wise for him either to wire or write to Rockingham, as there was some one there acting the spy.

This, then, accounted for his silence. But after his departure from his uncle’s house that night nothing had been seen or heard of him.

I called at my own rooms in Chelsea, where my landlady met me in great excitement. Not knowing my address she had been unable to write to me, but it appeared that one evening, three days before, some one had quietly entered the house with my latchkey, ascended to my rooms, and ransacked everything.

Now, my keys had been attached to one end of my watch-chain, and had, therefore, been stolen with the watch. The entry had been made on the night following the robbery from me, and although my roll-top writing-table had been opened and all my private papers and letters tossed about, I missed nothing.

The thieves had been in search of something; probably of that parchment-book of Bartholomew da Schorno which, fortunately, reposed in the strong-room at my bank.

All this, however, showed the ingenious and desperate character of our rivals. They would, I felt convinced, hesitate at nothing in order to obtain possession of the treasure.

The strange disappearance of Philip Reilly had now grown alarming. I made inquiries at the bank in Lombard Street, where he had been employed, but none of his friends there had seen him for weeks. His father, who was manager of a large linen warehouse in Cannon Street, was equally anxious as to his welfare.

We were playing a dangerous and exciting game, and my only fear was that, having made one or two discoveries, he had become too bold, and acted with the indiscretion of youth. He had, however, always seemed clear, level-headed, and cautious, and his father expressed a belief that he was not the kind of young man to fall into a trap.

I watched the small newsagent’s in Sterndale Road, Hammersmith, having sent an envelope, with a blank sheet of paper within, addressed to Purvis. I had arranged that Mr. Kenway should remain at the Manor a few days longer, and now turned my attention to finding the man who had bought the secret. Reilly had discovered him; why should I not be equally successful?