Chapter Nine

“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.

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

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.”

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

““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

“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!”