Free The Treasure at Poldarrow Point (An Angela Marchmont Mystery) by Clara Benson

to.’
    She walked back up the beach and pulled her shoes on over wet feet, then headed to the section of cliff that she thought was most likely to contain the entrance to the tunnel. Stopping now and again by a rock pool and poking about amongst the seaweed (might as well make it look as though she were merely hunting for interesting sea-creatures), she worked her way slowly along the cliff face, glancing up occasionally in the hope of seeing an opening that might be the entrance.
    At last she came to a little rocky outcrop that looked as though it might be just the thing: just after it, the cliff appeared to fold in on itself and form a kind of recess. Barbara’s eyes gleamed in excitement. Surely this was it! She glanced up to see where Helen had got to, and saw that she had come out of the water and was wrapping herself in a towel while proceeding slowly across the sand back towards the cliff path that led back to her cottage. Barbara waited a minute or two until Helen was out of sight then turned back to look more closely at the cliff face. As far as she could judge, the recess was almost directly below Poldarrow Point itself. This was promising. She skirted round a large seaweedy pool and rounded the rock, then almost jumped out of her skin as she came face to face with a man who was crouching in the recess in a most suspicious manner.
    ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. The man straightened up in a hurry. He was clearly as surprised as she was. He went pink in the face.
    ‘I am very sorry,’ he said. ‘I do not wish to frighten you.’
    ‘That’s all right,’ said Barbara. ‘I just got a shock, that’s all. I didn’t know anyone was here, you see.’
    She looked more closely at the man. He was obviously foreign, and was dressed in a rather odd pair of knee breeches and a hat with a feather. Despite his luxuriant moustache, he was younger than she had first thought. On the ground next to him was a knapsack, attached to which were one or two glass jars and a number of digging implements. He saw her curiosity and waved a hand towards the equipment.
    ‘I am Pierre Donati, from Switzerland,’ he said. ‘I am a scientist.’
    ‘Oh!’ said Barbara. ‘How fascinating. Are you studying something here?’
    He went pink again.
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I look for the hore.’
    ‘The what?’ said Barbara.
    ‘The hore. Metal, yes? Cornwall is rich in hore. Tin, copper. Also other things, such as wolfram, or tungsten as it is also known.’
    ‘Oh, ore —yes, of course,’ said Barbara. ‘I did know that. We learned about it at school, but I’m afraid I wasn’t listening very carefully.’
    ‘It can be a little dry for a young mind,’ he agreed, ‘but it is very important, for if metal can be found in the soil, it may be worth many thousands of pounds.’
    ‘I say!’ said Barbara. ‘That sounds more like it. Perhaps I shall pay more attention in future. You can’t carry much in those jars, though.’
    ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I do not dig up the hore itself. I merely take little samples of the soil here and there, which I will test later.’
    ‘But there’s no soil in here, only sand.’
    ‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr. Donati. ‘I come here for a little break from my work. The view is most beautiful.’
    ‘What, from behind this rock?’
    He looked confused, and coughed.
    ‘No, I was on the beach, then I happened to see this little—what do you call it?—cave, and I was very curious, so I came to take a closer look.’
    ‘Oh, so it is a cave,’ said Barbara in excitement. ‘Might I see?’
    He stepped out of the way to allow her to enter the recess. Sure enough, there was a narrow fissure in the cliff face that was quite screened from the view of anyone who might be looking from the beach. It appeared to be the entrance to a passage.
    ‘Have you been inside?’ she said to Donati.
    ‘No, I have not the torch,’ he replied.
    ‘I have a torch,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come in with me?’ She spoke out