Free Borrower of the Night: The First Vicky Bliss Mystery by Elizabeth Peters Page B

barbed-wire brambles from my ankle.
    “So you’re going to hand the shrine over, are you?” I said. “Aside from comments on overconfidence, which I have already made, may I compliment you on your ethics? I assumed you were going to tuck the treasure under your arm and steal away.”
    “You’re getting me confused with Nolan. I think he plans just that. I admit, when I started on this deal I hadn’t thought the problem through. I was excited about the hunt itself. Back in Ohio the whole thing was sort of unreal, you know what I mean? I never really thought we’d succeed. It’s different now…. But I’m sure of one thing. The shrine doesn’t belong to us. All we can do is turn it over to the rightful owner. I never had any intention of doing anything else. And don’t try to kid me; you never did, either.”
    “No, but I’ve been thinking.” I unwound the last bramble and stepped back onto the path. “The shrine wouldn’t be considered treasure trove, would it? That is strictly defined legally; depending on local laws, it belongs either to the state or to the state and the finder, half and half. But the shrine belongs to the Drachensteins; that can be proved by means of the documents we’ve been using. And—listen. The old lady is only a Drachenstein by marriage. If Irma is the count’s brother’s child, wouldn’t she be the heiress?”
    “Good point,” said Tony, brightening visibly. “We might try to find out about the late count’s will. Not that it has any bearing on our search….”
    “But it would add to your zeal to think that Irma would enjoy the fruits of your brilliance?”
    We had reached the keep and stood beside the high walls. Tony ignored my last remark and its tone of heavy sarcasm.
    “Behold the Wachtturm ,” he said, gesturing. “It was built in A.D. eight hundred seven by Count Meninguad von und zu Drachenstein, fondly known to his contemporaries as the Black Devil of the Tauber Valley. The keep was abandoned in thirteen hundred eighty-three when the present castle was built. In fifteen hundred five—”
    “All right, all right. I’ve read the guidebook too. Let’s go in.”
    There was no door. Rusted iron hinges, each a couple of feet long, hung futilely from the doorframe. The interior of the first floor was a single circular room, dimly lit by the four narrow slits that pierced the walls. Since said walls were over eight feet thick, the sunlight didn’t have much of a chance. The floor was of stone, but so overlaid with dirt that the original surface was virtually invisible.
    Tony made a circuit of the walls, peering at the huge stones.
    “When they built in those days, they built to last.” He spoke in hushed tones, as if something might be listening. “I can’t see anything unusual here. Let’s go up.”
    Narrow stairs were cut into the stones of the wall. They were treacherous to climb; each step had a deep trench in the center, worn by generations of feet.
    The second floor had been the hall. The windows were a little wider than those below. Across one quadrant of the room lay the remains of a half-wall, or screen, of stone, behind a low dais. The big stone fireplace, with the family arms on its hood, was the only feature in the room, which was littered with chips of fallen stone.
    “The count and his lady dined there,” Tony muttered, looking at the dais. “Their sleeping quarters were behind the screen. Rushes underfoot, and the dogs fighting over table scraps….”
    “Gracious living,” I agreed. “According to the guidebook, this place was abandoned long before fifteen hundred twenty-five. It wouldn’t be a bad spot to hide something.”
    Tony shook his head.
    “It may have been abandoned as living quarters, but I’ll bet it was still in use as a guard tower. Anyhow, if I were the count, I’d prefer to have my valuables closer at hand, so I could keep an eye on them. Way out here—”
    He stopped speaking. He was opposite one of the window slits,