Free Treasure of the Celtic Triangle by Michael Phillips Page A

amount you speak of is admittedly very high. It would take me some time to raise such capital. I assume, as you mention a minimum figure of ten pounds for a thousand acres that your acceptable terms for lesser acreage would be correspondingly higher
.
    Let me propose the following: sixteen pounds an acre for five hundred acres, a total of £8,000; or thirteen pounds an acre for one thousand acres, or £13,000
.
    If those terms are acceptable to you, I will have the preliminary papers drawn up. That will take some time, and winter will soon be upon us. But if you find my offer satisfactory, I will set the process in motion. Then we can arrange a time that is mutually acceptable for me to visit you in Wales, perhaps in the spring. At that time we can formalize our intentions. I will also agree to your stipulation of one-third down. When I come, upon receipt of your signature on the documents, I will place a check for either £2,700 or £4,400 into your hands
.
    I am,
Sincerely yours,
Lord Coleraine Litchfield
    Courtenay’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he read Litch-field’s letter. He had done it! He had successfully extracted from Litchfield a commitment for more than
triple
his original offer. This would definitely get him out of his financial straits and keep him flush until his twenty-fifth birthday.
    He wouldn’t need his mother’s money now. Let her eat cake!

T HIRTEEN
    Reflections
    P ercy Drummond had not forgotten his uncle Roderick’s mysterious deathbed commission of the previous June that had enjoined him to secrecy on an assignment he little understood.
    The viscount had been fond of Percy. The lad’s engagement to his daughter had put the viscount in an exuberant, even reckless mood. He and Percy had gone riding the next day. For their ride he took out the dangerous black stallion Demon. It was a decision that cost him his life. The tempestuous horse had thrown him while leaping an uneven and rocky stream. The viscount’s fall proved mortal. He had broken several bones and badly injured his neck. Both paralysis and gangrene soon became apparent.
    As he lay on his deathbed, after consulting with his solicitor and after a probing talk with Percy about eternal matters and the destiny of his own soul, Lord Snowdon had requested his nephew to go through his files and put in order what he could, take care of anything it might be best that Katherine not see, and then to take down the private affidavit that now occupied Percy’s thoughts.
    He withdrew the document from where he kept it among his personal papers. No one, not even his Aunt Katherine nor his father or mother, knew of it. No one else in the world knew of the secrets this affidavit divulged concerning the viscount’s past.
    Slowly Percy unfolded the paper and began reading again the words, written in his own hand, that stunned him as much now as they had that day the previous June when he first heard them from his uncle’s mouth.
    To whom it may concern, especially to my dear wife, Katherine, my family, and to Hamilton Murray, our faithful solicitor of many years:
    I make this affidavit on the 27 th day of June, in the year 1872, in the presence of my nephew, Percival Drummond, son of Edward and Mary Drummond of Glasgow. I am of sound mind, but failing body. Those matters I here disclose, I have kept to myself more than thirty years for the sake of you whom I love so dearly. It was never my intention to speak of them. But conscience now compels me to make a clean breast of it. I earnestly pray that doing so will not cause undo pain, especially to you, my dear Katherine. I pray the truth, though painful, will be its own reward. I do not want to die with secrets on my conscience. May God forgive me if it is wrong to divulge what I could never tell another soul. But if truth matters, then may God heal whatever wounds it may cause. He knows better than anyone that I have not always lived by the dictates and demands of truth. It is admittedly a