Free The Camelot Caper by Elizabeth Peters

The ring. What sort of ring, where did it come from—full data, if you please.”
    â€œIt’s ugly,” Jess said. “And worthless. The metal is gold, but it’s impure, and poorly shaped. The size? Oh, big—a man’s ring, it’s miles too big for me, and the setting must be an inch in diameter. The stone is a hideous dark thing, opaque—agate, probably. It isn’t even cut, just sort of rounded off. The whole thing is terribly crude. Oh, I forgot—on the stone there’s a roughly scratched sign. A sword, according to my father, though it doesn’t look like a sword. But that was the family crest, so—”
    â€œIt belonged to the Tregarths? Your father’s side of the family?”
    â€œYes. Oh, I suppose I’d better tell you about that, too, but it sounds so medieval. Or do I mean Victorian? Anyhow. My grandfather is still living, down in Cornwall. Father had a terrible fight with him years ago, and walked out—clear across the Atlantic. I never knew what the fight was about; my father died when I was small, and Mother never talked about his family except to say they were a bunch of rats. Of course she never knew them, only what he said about them; he met her in the States and married her there.
    â€œThen, a few months ago, I got a letter from my grandfather. He’s awfully old and I guess he’s mellowed; he wants to see me before he dies.”
    â€œHow did he find you?”
    â€œMother wrote to him when Father died. Not a nice letter. She’s moved since then, of course, but she’s still in New York; it wouldn’t be hard to find her. The letter was sent in care of her.”
    â€œYou’re living with your mother?”
    â€œNo, I moved out two years ago when I got my job. I see Mother now and then; we get along reasonably well. She’s been working since Father died, and has a good job as a buyer for a big department store.”
    â€œAll right for that. It must have occurred to you, surely, that your problems are somehow connected with your grandfather. I take it the ring was his?”
    â€œYes; he asked me to bring it with me. Hedidn’t exactly say that Father had stolen it, but he managed to convey that idea. Goodness knows I don’t want the darned thing.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know; it sounds just the sort of thing they’re selling these days in the pop-art establishments. But I don’t see the meaning of the cursed trinket. Is it the designation of the rightful heir? Did your father try to rob his elder brother of a million pounds by stealing the ring?”
    â€œMy father was the only son. He had one sister; she’s still in Cornwall, taking care of Grandfather. She’s a widow; I guess her son would be the heir. ‘Your cousin John,’ my grandfather called him. But, goodness, David, there isn’t anything to inherit! There never was a title, nor a great estate, and since the last war what property there was has lost its value along with so many other things. Mother was bitter about that.”
    â€œYour mother sounds like a woman after my own heart. Practical. Well, that’s a pity; I shan’t be able to marry you for your money.” David signaled the waiter. “Have some more coffee, we still have matters to discuss. Okay, as they say in—Sorry. Our course of action seems clear. Obviously we must converse with Grandpapa. Stopping off on the way to Cornwall to recoverhis ring from the cathedral treasury at Salisbury.”
    â€œDavid…” But the speech she had started to make stuck in her throat. She felt like a child, trying to force itself to return a much desired but inappropriate gift.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI can’t—you mustn’t—”
    â€œGet involved?” He put his coffee cup back in its saucer with a neat, precise movement, and grinned at her. The distortion of his mouth made his smile a caricature, but