Free The Old Vengeful by Anthony Price

suppose not.” Elizabeth conceded the point miserably.
    “So you don’t know what he was after?” He sounded disappointed too.
    “I know he wasn’t after my money—the money in the house— because he said so.” The misery deepened; in another moment her eyes would be swimming. “I’ve got rather a lot of it, Father left a whole box full of it. It’s in Father’s Vengeful box.”
    “His what?”
    “His Vengeful box. It was the surgeon’s box, for his instruments, with his name on the top picked out on a brass plate—he kept his money in it… they gave it to him.”
    “Gave it to whom?” He frowned at her. “Whose name?”
    “The surgeon’s name—the ship’s surgeon—Williard—no, William Willard Pike—“ Elizabeth corrected herself”—he kept his scalpels, and his forceps, and saws and things in it—at least, that’s what Father thought.” Something seemed to be confusing him. “They gave it to him.”
    “Who gave it to whom?”
    Now she was confused too. “What?”
    “The surgeon kept his instruments in it.” He scratched his head. “But your father also kept his money in it. Did the surgeon give it to your father? Not that it matters—“
    “Of course not!” How could he be so obtuse? “The surgeon’s patients gave it to him—it says so on the inside of the lid. Father kept his money in it—my money now.” She caught herself slurring her words again. “I mean, it’s just an old box—an old mahogany box with brass hinges and the inscription plates on it, that’s all.”
    “I see.” He nodded. “And the surgeon gave it to him .”
    “No! I told you—“
    He lifted his hand. “It really doesn’t matter—“
    “No! Father’s crew gave it to him—the survivors in 1942. They found it in an antique shop in Portsmouth, somewhere … not with the instruments in it, of course—it was empty, but it just had room for a few bottles of very old wine—or port, or brandy, or something. It was their present to him—a sort of keepsake, the box was, after they’d drunk the brandy—you see?” she looked at him hopefully.
    “Yes …” He listened as another car went by. “And that was why he called it his Vengeful box—I see.”
    “Yes— no —no … that was because of Dr Pike.”
    He frowned again. “What? Dr Pike?”
    “The surgeon—I told you!” Elizabeth was consumed by a desire to get the facts straight, if that was possible. “Dr Pike was the surgeon on Number Seven—the old Vengeful … only he must have drowned with the prize crew when the Fortuné went down on the Horse Sands off Portsmouth—“ She hiccupped suddenly. “Pardon! It’s all in the Number Seven chapter in Father’s book—he thought the box must have drifted ashore from the wreck … It was really the box that gave him the idea of writing the Vengeful book, I think. Do you want to hear about it? Because Father thought—“
    “That’s all right—I can read about it, Elizabeth,” said Paul Mitchell quickly. “And he kept his money in it—that’s very interesting.”
    He didn’t look as though he was very interested, thought Elizabeth. He looked as if he was listening to something else.
    Suddenly she wanted to interest him. “Father was a gambler, you know— he gambled … And I never knew it—would you believe that?” It was almost a relief to tell someone at last. “He left me a letter—and he left me lots of money. Lots and lots and lots of money—would you believe that ?”
    Now he was interested. “Oh, yes?”
    “Oh, yes—“ After a brief moment of gratification, caution set in abruptly “—it’s all … quite safe. Apart from what’s upstairs in the Vengeful box.”
    “That’s good.” He stared at her. “What was it—the horses? Or the football pools?”
    “He didn’t like football.” Come to that, thought Elizabeth, he hadn’t liked horses either. “But … I don’t really know—“ she was about to add “Would you believe that?” when she