Free The Tintern Treasure by Kate Sedley Page B

enough, there was a far larger space than was obvious at first sight. My arm disappeared almost up to the shoulder. I could also feel loose crumbs of cement as though some kind of barrier had been broken down.
    I stood up and reported my findings. Once again, the goldsmith was the first to grasp the implications. ‘You’re thinking,’ he said, ‘that a century and a half ago, something was concealed in that hole and then sealed up with a wall of cement? The old accounts books and the pages of diary were put in to fill the remaining space and act as a decoy if anyone – for some unknown reason – should go searching for the secret hiding place?’
    I nodded. ‘And the other noises which Brother Mark heard, and was unable to identify, was our young friend either chiselling up the hearth tiles or else breaking through the cement wall into the inner compartment.’ I added, ‘I don’t fancy the wall was very strong, and in any case, it may well have begun to crumble after a hundred and fifty odd years.’
    â€˜But who would know about this inner compartment?’ the abbot demanded fretfully. ‘I didn’t know about it, and as far as I know, no one has talked or even thought about that secret hiding place for years. Well, certainly not within my hearing.’
    â€˜We shall only have the answer to that,’ I pointed out, ‘when we interrogate our prisoner.’
    â€˜Do you think he found anything?’ Gilbert Foliot asked me.
    â€˜Yes.’ I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the man as he had charged between us. ‘Yes,’ I repeated. ‘I feel almost certain that he was holding something. Oh, not his bag of tools. That was in his right hand. But I would stake my life he was also clutching something in his left. Something small because his fist was clenched around it.’
    The goldsmith nodded slowly.
    â€˜I don’t understand any of this,’ the abbot complained even more fretfully than before. ‘So let’s go and demand an explanation of this young man. Brother Mark and the others should surely have him in custody by now.’
    But he was to be disappointed. Barely were the words out of his mouth than Brother Mark appeared in the doorway very much out of breath and wearing a distinctly hangdog expression. It didn’t need his stumbling apology to know that our quarry had eluded us.
    â€˜We . . . We thought we had him cornered, Father. We did indeed! He was about half a furlong ahead of us – maybe a little more – when he ran into the infirmary . . .’
    â€˜Ah!’ I exclaimed. ‘Of course! The unknown traveller who, according to the gatekeeper arrived here earlier today, but had kept to his bed with the curtains drawn, pleading a sick headache. He had to go back to the infirmary to collect the rest of his gear.’
    â€˜Yes! You’ve got it, Master Chapman!’ Gilbert Foliot clapped me on the shoulder.
    â€˜Never mind that,’ the abbot said impatiently. He turned back to Brother Mark. ‘Well? What happened then?’
    The young monk shuffled his feet. ‘We . . . we all rushed into the infirmary, Father, thinking he couldn’t possibly get away, but . . . but he’d gone.’ The boy swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a fisherman’s float. ‘We . . . we forgot about the latrine drain. He must have followed it down to the cesspit, then climbed over the wall.’
    The abbot closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the picture of frustration. But he was a fair-minded man and at last forced himself to say, ‘I suppose that wasn’t your fault.’
    â€˜He can’t have got far,’ the goldsmith said. ‘I’m going out after him. See if I can track him down.’
    I laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Don’t be a fool, man!’ For the moment, I had forgotten the difference in our stations.