The Lost Inheritance Mystery Page 2

  "My boots are clean," said Furtive. "I repeat: what kind of thieving?"

  Butler leaned closer, something he would soon regret. "Burglary!"

  "Okay, so…if I was of a type proficient in that skill, what would be my cut?"

  A stench wafted over Butler, cloying his mouth with something so rank and disgusting he would risk another beer to rinse its foulness away. He now realized the reason for the others unwillingness to get close to this man. He sat back in his chair as far as he could, turned his head slightly to the side, and covered his nose with his hands.

  Everyone in the room, except Furtive and Butler, roared with laughter.

  Furtive sighed. "Okay, so I ave a bit of a problem in the fresh breath department…"

  "A bit of a problem! I tell you right now I'd consider chewing a dog turd if it would rinse away the squalor that currently dwells in my mouth."

  "Yes, I've heard it all before, now let's move on. If it be house thieving or any other kind, I'm yer man, but I needs to know what I'll get out of it. As the barman so rightly stated, this ain't no charity house."

  "One hundred pounds," was Butler's muffled reply.

  Furtive thought about the offer. A hundred pounds was a lot of cash and something he desperately needed. "Okay, I'll do it! When, where, what and who from?"

  Butler quickly told the man all the details of the job he needed to know and a little about the miserly Ebenezer Drooge―how he had been in his service for nigh on twenty years, treated little better than a slave, received a pittance of a wage in return and that he had also tried to break into the safe himself, but had failed, which is why he needed the services of a skilled burglar.

  When Furtive asked him why he had put up with Drooge and his rotten job for so long and not walked away, Butler told him the reason. Somewhere on the large estate was a fortune hidden by Ebenezer's grandfather. The family had been looking for it for decades without success. He had only stayed for so long because he had also been searching for it.

  Before Butler fled the Blind Pirate Tavern, never to return, Furtive insisted on an advance of ten pounds for expenses before he agreed to take on the job. To escape the man's breath, Butler would have willingly given him the whole hundred.

  Two weeks later...

  As Butler approached the study, he slapped his feet loudly on the tiled floor and paused outside with his ear against the door. From within the room came the chinking of glass, hurried slipper-clad footsteps crossing the room and lastly the creak of wicker. When all was silent, he opened the door. Framed in the doorway of the candlelit room, he glanced at the man feigning sleep in the wicker wheelchair. Butler shook his head in dismay, closed the door and coughed.

  Ebenezer Drooge stirred with a convincing performance and sleepily opened his eyes. His fake yawn was accompanied by the exaggerated stretching of thin bony arms. His shrewd eyes glanced at the man who had just entered. "Is it time?"

  Butler nodded. "Yes, Sir. If he is following my instructions, he will be waiting in the garden for this room to go dark."

  "Let's hope this one succeeds where all those before have failed or I'll likely be dead before I get my hands on it." Ebenezer's gaze strayed to settle on the brandy decanter across the room.

  Butler picked up on the unspoken request and headed toward it. "Yes, Sir, so far results have been rather disappointing, but I have a feeling Furtive Freddy might surprise you."

  "By surprise, I hope you don't mean he's going to jump out of the shadows with a loud yell. I'm not sure my poor heart could stand it."

  "No, Sir, I am sure that is not on the burglar's agenda." Butler halted at the small table and stared at the level of brandy in the decanter, which was, in his estimation, two shots lower than when he had last laid eyes upon it. Beside the decanter a cut-crystal tumbler seeped fresh brandy fumes. "I think we may have a problem, Sir."

  A worried frown appeared on the old man's wrinkled brow. "A problem! Explain yourself, man!"

  Butler turned to look at his employer. "I think Furtive may already be inside the house and has stolen some of your fine brandy, Sir, because it's lower than I remember."

  Ebenezer's expression of anxiousness was replaced by guilty embarrassment. "Nonsense! It probably evaporated."

  Butler raised his eyebrows. "I doubt that, Sir, as the top remains firmly seated." To prove the point he lifted up the decanter by its stopper.

  "It must have been a mouse then."

  Butler's eyebrows raised another notch. "A mouse, Sir? Then I suggest we contact the British Zoological Society of this event. Because if it were a mouse, as you have just suggested, then it was clever enough to remove the stopper and strong enough to lift the decanter, pour brandy into a glass, replace the stopper and guzzle down the fine beverage without spilling a single drop. It would have to be a super strong and highly intelligent rodent to perform such a feat. Why, it could be a new super breed." He made to head toward the door, "Shall I rush off and send a telegram now, Sir?"

  "Okay, okay, you've had your fun, Butler. I can see how impossible it would be for a mouse to have supped my brandy. It must have been the maid."

  "The maid, Sir! What maid would that be? Perhaps my memory is failing, but I don't recall a maid ever setting foot in this house for the last five years. The last one, if again my memory is still functioning clearly, as I believe it to be, refused ever to set foot in this house again after you ordered her to administer a sponge bath and to pay particular attention to a part of your body, which, if there was even the slightest chance my eyes would lay their sight upon, I would rip them from my skull before the horrendous vision became imprinted in my brain like a nightmare I could never escape from. She said her eyes felt so soiled from what she had seen she was running home to scrub them with carbolic soap. And I distinctly remember her last words as she fled through the front door: 'It was worse than the most horriblest thing you could ever imagine and so stiff you could run a flag up it.' "

  The smirk plastered on Ebenezer's face indicated he recalled the incident fondly. "Ah, those were the days, eh, Butler," he said wistfully. "Such fond memories."

  "I'm quite certain the maid in question would have an entirely different view on the matter, Sir. But we digress. Let us return to our current dilemma of the pilfered brandy…"

  Ebenezer dismissed the matter with a weak wave of a frail limb. "I suppose we'll have to leave it as a mystery impossible to solve."

  "Yes, Sir, I suppose we will." With a satisfied smirk, Butler poured brandy into the glass and carried it over to his master on a small silver tray.

  The old man greedily took the offered beverage. "Ah, just what the doctor ordered."

  "Well, not really, Sir. He actually said, 'If you carried on drinking your liver would most probably commit suicide to escape the continued torment '"

  "Bah! Doctors―they think they know everything."

  "Yes, of course, Sir. It's not like they have to go through many years of extensive training before they can even assume the title of doctor."

  "Exactly!" replied the old man, completely missing his manservant's sarcasm. He drained the glass in one and handed it to Butler.

  "Now, Sir, I suggest we prepare to receive our visitor."

  Ebenezer's eyes longingly followed the empty glass and watched it set down beside the tempting decanter.

  "Shall I extinguish the candles, Sir?"

  "Yes, do it, and though I don't hold out much hope for success, I suppose we have to keep trying."

  "If you want to find your grandfather's hidden treasure, it is the only way, Sir. As I mentioned previously, I think Furtive might surprise us both." He snuffed out the candles and sat in a nearby chair.

  A few moments later wicker creaked, soft footsteps padded across the room, a clink of glass, poured liquid, a satisfied gulp, soft footsteps and finally the creak of wicker.

  Butler silently sighed.

  Furtive noticed the room fade into darkness and smiled. It was time for him to do what he did best.
He approached the house and made his way round to the back as Butler had instructed.

  Like the windows adorning the front of the manor, those at the back were also barred. He gazed up at the high roof. The small round skylight would be his point of entry, but first he had to reach it. There were two obvious options: the cast iron drainpipe or the ivy that grew up to reach the gutter. He dismissed them both. Only amateurs would risk such obvious routes. Butler had warned him the house was well protected and to expect a few surprises. His gaze settled on the branches of the ancient oak stretching out toward the roof. Though ending six feet short, he was confident he could make the jump.

  He approached the trunk and climbed it as proficiently as any squirrel. Once he had clambered up onto the first thick limb, the rest of the going was even easier. He climbed onto the highest branch strong enough to support his weight and ran along its length. On reaching its tip he launched himself into the air and sailed toward the house. His fingers gripped the gutter, his feet slammed silently against the wall. He climbed onto the lower roof, ran up the slates and paused on the ridge to survey his surroundings.

  The round skylight set in the tower roof lay a few yards above. The warped and partly rotted wooden clapboards covering the side of the tower provided enough hand and foot holds to reach the gutter and pull himself up. A few careful strides up the steep slate roof brought him to the window. His experienced burglar eyes detected no sign of protection except a simple metal catch that locked the window. His knife slid between window and frame and slid the catch aside. He lifted the window hinged on its top side and rested it against the sloping roof. He slithered inside and hung upside down with his feet hooked either side of the opening. The square of moonlight not blocked by his form, revealed little of the room or its contents. It did though reveal the tattered armchair directly below him; a soft landing only an amateur burglar would take advantage of.

  He retrieved a small oil lamp fixed on a hoop from his pocket, lit it and slipped it over his hat. Though most of the attic remained cloaked in darkness, the dim light illuminated his immediate surroundings. The trusses stretched across the top of the room would provide a safe route to the door. Freeing one foot, he swung toward the nearest beam, grabbed hold and let his body drop. Using the momentum of his fall, he swung in a circle to land sure-footedly on top of the truss. He had made no sound. The only sign of his presence was the disturbed dust that drifted toward the jumble of unwanted objects littering the room. Five silent bounds carried him across the room. He dropped to land in front of the exit. His eyes studied the door, the frame and the large metal lock. When a turn of the handle failed to open the door, he knelt to examine the rusty lock more closely and smiled. It was a simple Walpole two tumbler job. He could pick it in his sleep. He fished the required tool from a pocket, and in a blink of an eye and with a slight metallic scrape, the door was unlocked. He turned his attention to the hinges. They were rustier than the lock and would no doubt yell in protest when the door was opened. A drop of oil, a short wait and the problem was solved. Furtive turned the handle and pushed the door. It swung open without a sound.

  Steps led down to another similar door, which was opened as expertly as the previous one. Furtive glanced furtively both ways along the door-lined corridor with a strip of worn carpet running down the centre. Except for the distant sound of a ticking clock and the creaks and groans of the old manor settling down for the night, silence reigned throughout the house. According to Butler's instructions, he needed to make his way to the library; there he would find Ebenezer's safe crammed with cash. He cautiously stepped out into the hall and stared along its length. His finely attuned senses screamed a warning.

  He dropped to his knees and lay on the floor. He removed the lamp from his head and held it at arm's length. The light revealed suspicious lumps in the carpet and thin, almost invisible trip wires stretched taught from wall to wall at various heights. He knew each would be attached to a bell or some other warning device to alert all in the house of an intruder's presence. His smile was one of admiration for the trap's conceiver.

  Furtive slithered around to face in the opposite direction. He noticed two carpet lumps and two tripwires. He spent a moment planning his next course of action. Once decided upon, he placed the lamp back on his hat, removed the Chinese vase from the nearby small table, set it softly on the floor and climbed on top. He leapt to grab the picture rail with his strong fingers and sidled along in a direction that took him away from the grand staircase. Once past the cunningly designed traps, he dropped softly to the floor to land before a door he believed would lead to a route he could use to reach the lower floor. A turn of the handle revealed it was unlocked. Cautiously he pushed it open and smiled at what he saw, a narrow staircase leading down. Furtive had robbed so many similar manor houses it was possible for him to discern the layouts of each as most were built to a similar design. The staircase before him would have been used by the servants to move between floors without using the main staircase.

  A quick survey of the stairs and walls convinced him they were trap free. Placing his feet at the left and right sides of the treads where they were less likely to creak; he gently lowered his weight onto each step during his descent. The door at the bottom, also unlocked, was soon passed through. He stood in a white washed corridor with doors opening onto the kitchen, scullery, stores, pantry and washroom, the working hub of the household where servants would carry out the needs of their master. The appetizing aroma of something cooking drifted from the kitchen to cause his empty stomach to rumble. Though he was tempted to go and have a quick taste, with an extreme effort he pushed the temptation aside and concentrated on the job in hand.

  According to Butler, he was the only servant left. The old man, Drooge, could hardly walk and practically lived in a wheelchair, so he had no fear of the unexpected appearance of any household staff. Traps aside, it would be one of the easiest jobs he had ever done.

  When he was satisfied the black and white tiled floor held no obvious danger, he made his way to the door at the end, which stood ajar. He peered through the gap. On his right stood the bottom of the grand staircase and around the large tiled hall doors opened onto various rooms, but only one held any interest to him, the library. He scurried silently across the hall to the door indicated by Butler, who had assured him it would be unlocked. He reached for the handle. His fingers clasped around it. He paused. His senses were acting up again. He swiveled his head around the hall.

  Ebenezer was growing bored and more than a little thirsty. "Do you think he's in the house yet?" he whispered.

  "I am certain he is, Sir," replied Butler softly.

  "I haven't heard any traps sprung yet?"

  "No, Sir. Then it's probably an indication he hasn't set any off. I told you I thought he might be the one."

  The old man sniggered. "He's going to get a bit of a shock when he opens that safe and finds the surprise I left for him."

  "Yes, Sir, I expect he will."

  Ebenezer sniffed the air. "Oh, my god! What's that rank stench? Butler, you'll have to check my wheels when the lights are back on. You must have rolled in something foul when you last took me for a walk."

  Darkness hid the surprised look on Butler's face. "No, Sir, I am afraid it's something much worse and not so easily wiped away."

  The flare of a match lit up the darkness and glinted from the glass of brandy Furtive held in his hand.

  Furtive raised the glass to the two men. "Cheers!" He swallowed it in one gulp and let out a satisfied smack of his lips. "That is by far the best brandy I have ever had the pleasure to drink."

  "Butler, that man's stealing my brandy! It wasn't the maid or a mouse, it was a thief!"

  Butler lit the candles. "Sir, I introduce to you Furtive Freddy, a burglar of high caliber if his accomplishment this night is the evidence to consider."

  "The only evidence I can see is the theft of my expensive brandy."

  "I think he deserves a drink for his achi
evements this night, Sir. He has made it through the house without setting off any traps, entered this room and poured himself a drink without alerting us to his presence." Butler argued.

  "And I don't, I suppose?"

  Butler fetched a clean glass from the cabinet, filled it with a double shot of brandy and took it over to Ebenezer, who snatched it from his grasp.

  "Have you eaten, Furtive?" Butler enquired.

  "Not since last Tuesday."

  "Then would you like to join us for dinner in the adjoining room? There we can discuss what has happened this night."

  "I must admit I am a little peckish." His stomach growled in agreement. "I am also curious as ter the reason fer the appalling deceit laid against me this night."

  "Of course, Furtive, I promise all will soon be explained." Butler grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and pushed the old man towards the door. "Please follow me, Furtive."

  "Will me 'undred quid also be served to me as well as the grub?"

  "Yes, Furtive, you will receive your fee."

  The old man wrinkled his nose and grimaced. He leant over the side of the chair to look at the wheels. "You sure you haven't rolled me in some disgusting filth, Butler."

  "Yes, Sir, I am absolutely certain."

  THE PLAN

  On entering the dining room, Ebenezer cast a critical eye at the roaring log fire. "Rather excessive isn't it, Butler. Wood doesn't grow on trees you know."

  "As we had a special guest, Sir, I thought you would want to make him comfortable. It is a rather cold house."

  Ebenezer mumbled his displeasure. "Maybe you're right, but no more logs. The room's as hot as an oven."

  "I could always assist you in removing some of your many layers of clothing, Sir, or those four woolen blankets you have cocooned yourself in."

  The old man dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Just serve the dinner. I'm famished."