He piled the coins on the torn sack, but there was no way to tie it securely. If his father had purchased all these rugs there might be an empty sack he could use. He stood on the carpets again and reached up. The splintered board gave slightly when he tried to move it aside and another hard shove opened a loose section he was able to slide back. Now, he could reach inside. He groped about, and he had guessed rightly, for he felt another sack. Only it wasn't an empty sack. It was solidly heavy. "Jupiter!" he gasped. "However much is the old fellow hauling about?"

Tugging and struggling, he could feel two more sacks, but how many were up there he couldn't tell. He was really alarmed now, for such a risk must surely be unwarranted even for a gentleman who was slightly unbalanced. He sat on the carpets and stared blankly at the golden glitters all around him. And unbidden and unwanted came the memory of the free-trader Paul who had shared his camp and told him of the robbery at the Belgian mint and the young guard who had been needlessly murdered.

Disgusted with himself, he muttered, "Nonsense! He is an honourable gentleman! As if he would do such a thing!" Besides, Lord Kincraig was a rich man. He'd said, "I have more than enough for both of you." But how had he amassed his fortune? Could it be that this was the real reason for the years he'd spent roving about Europe and spreading his silly rumours of jewelled and flying carpets? Had Duncan Keith tried to put a period to his unwanted half-brother not because he coveted the entire Kincraig fortune, but because he was afraid Jack Vespa might discover that their father was- Such disloyal thoughts were disgraceful. It couldn't be true! It couldn't! But his eyes were as if drawn back to the sack. And he saw that it was indeed the kind of sturdy container that money houses tended to use. Struggling to dismiss the suspicions that were so horrible and yet so inescapable, he found that he was gathering the coins together once more. He stood on the carpets and began to stuff the louis and the torn sack back through the aperture in the roof. He tugged the splintered board as far closed as he could, then jumped down from the waggon and closed the doors.

The rain had stopped. Lord Kincraig was nowhere to be seen. He walked to where Bruine was grazing and secured her reins to a shrub. And he thought wryly that it would appear he might have exchanged a sire who was a murderous traitor for one who was a murderous thief. The duchess would be a great deal less than delighted to welcome him into her proud 'royal family' if that was the case. The only hope would be that his lordship had some perfectly logical explanation.

With a cynical shrug and a heavy heart, he sat on the tail of the waggon to wait.

14.

Perhaps because he was so troubled, Vespa found the wait intolerable and after some minutes had passed he went in search of his father. The rain had given way to a misty overcast that did nothing to lighten his spirits. He left the spinney but Lord Kincraig was nowhere in sight. About two hundred yards to the south another copse of trees bordered a stream and he started in that direction. As he drew nearer, he heard men's voices. His lordship, it would seem, had met someone. A comrade in crime, perhaps? He swore under his breath, and moved cautiously into the trees.

There were two of them and they were conversing in English, but so softly that he could detect only a word or two: "... damned chancy, but worth ... if we can bring it off!" That was Kincraig, and speaking with an irked briskness quite unlike his often vague ramblings.

His companion muttered, "... hot after you ... I'll try to find out where ... Don't like ... no choice ... con Dios!"

It was the farewell, and in Spanish. Vespa sprinted forward, his steps muffled by the pound of hooves, and was in time to catch a glimpse of a fast vanishing rider. A rider mounted on a splendid black horse. 'And that,' he thought bitterly, 'properly drives me to the ropes!'

He walked quickly back to the waggon, not much caring whether Kincraig saw him or not. He was adjusting the team's harness straps when Kincraig joined him.

"Been looking over my fine fellows, have you?" he said, resting a hand briefly on Vespa's shoulder.

"I can find no injuries, sir."

"Thank goodness for that! I was sure the waggon must go down. Only thanks to you it did not. Where did you learn that trick?"

So it was to be all lightness and business as usual. Somehow, Vespa found a grin. "Army training, I suppose. We were very often obliged to be inventive so as to win free from some tight spot or other. Do you still want your medicine, sir?"

Kincraig stared at him vacantly.

"You had asked me to get it for you," he reminded. "But when I brought it out, you'd gone. Are you feeling better?"

"Oh-yes. Much better, I thank you. Sometimes, you know, I become a little confused, and I suppose the fall rattled my poor brains a trifle."

Vespa's lips tightened and with an ache of the heart he entered this sad sparring match. "I shall have to keep a closer eye on you. I expect you'll want to inspect your waggon, but I think it's no worse for the accident."

Kincraig glanced at him obliquely then went to the rear of the waggon, peered about inside, and closed the doors. "You're right. No harm done that I can see."

"Then if you've completed your business here, we can go on. Consuela and Paige likely think we're at Jericho!"

Kincraig said ruefully that his joints seemed stiff after his fall, and Vespa helped him onto the seat and handed him the leathers.

Kincraig enquired, "What business?"

"Eh?" Mounting Bruine, Vespa said, "Oh, I thought perhaps this was where you were to meet your friend."

A pause while his lordship guided the team expertly into a wide turn. Then he replied, "He said he might leave a message here if he was delayed. There's an oddly shaped boulder in those trees over there. It serves as our post office. I walked over, but there was no message."

"Ah. Then your friend has not been delayed and will be waiting for you?"

"I hope so." For just an instant Kincraig's expression was very grim, then he said brightly, "Let's go and make sure."

They returned to the lane, Vespa riding beside the waggon and trying not to abandon all hope. After a while, he tried again. "Don't you have locks for your doors, father?"

Kincraig turned and smiled at him. "No, my dear boy. I've never felt the need."

'Good God!' thought Vespa.

"These people are very honest, you know," his lordship added. "And what are they going to steal? My carpets?"

"You did say that some of them are very valuable. And thieves who know of your collection would also know that you must carry funds to pay for whatever you decide to buy."

"No, no. I carry very little cash. All my purchases are by bank draft. I've an account at the Bank of France in Paris-" He saw Vespa's astonished expression and said roguishly, "under another name, I'll admit, but all perfectly legal. So you see, I've little to fear from robbers."

Vespa thought miserably, 'Except for a waggon roof that is practically solid gold!'

They did not speak again until they came up with the chevalier's coach. Manderville and Consuela had waited inside and hurried to meet them. Pierre shouted from the branch of a tree that he had found a bird's nest, but there were no eggs inside.

Vespa dismounted and took the hand Consuela reached out to him. "No uninvited guests?"

She shook her head. "You were gone so long, I was worried to death."

"We were just about to go in search of you," said Manderville, scanning Lord Kincraig narrowly. "Had some trouble, have you, sir?"

"A small contretemps with a wheel." His lordship shrugged. "Luckily, my enterprising son was able to solve the problem. Shall we proceed?"

Consuela was watching Vespa, and as he handed her back into the carriage, she asked softly, "What is it?"

He assured her she was finding trouble where there was none, but although he smiled there was an emptiness in his eyes that she had seen all too often during his convalescence and had prayed never to see again.

They resumed their journey. Kincraig led the way, and Vespa, who was driving the carriage, stayed a good quarter mile back, so as not to give the impression they were together. When they stopped at a wayside tavern to rest the horses Consuela and Pierre went inside to buy lunch, and Manderville complained that he was unable to sleep and might as well drive, because the boy was not still for an instant. When Vespa, lost in thought, made no comment, he asked, "Well? Now what are you mulling over?"

"You wouldn't believe me," answered Vespa shortly, and limped across the cobbled yard to where the cart-horses were being fussed over by an elderly ostler with whom his lordship was chatting earnestly. It struck Vespa that the old man's French was unusually faultless, but it was broken off as he came up, and the ostler hurried into the stables.

Vespa went in search of Consuela, wondering if the ostler was in league with the gang of thieves, and which of them had so viciously murdered the young guard at the Mint. To think such evil of the father he had just found and to whom he was so deeply drawn brought a pang of anguish. If only his suspicions proved to be unfounded. Heaven grant that was the case, and he was letting his imagination run away with him, and shooting at shadows.

They left the farm with baskets of bread, cheese and pickles, and a bottle of wine in each vehicle, plus a jar of milk for Pierre. Of necessity Lord Kincraig drove out first. Manderville volunteered to be coachman and, since the rain had stopped, Pierre sat on the box beside him, so that Vespa was able to join his lady for their 'luncheon.' He ate sparingly, but he cherished these moments when he could hold Consuela's hand now and then. She chattered happily about their marriage and their life together, and he gazed at her, responding appropriately and adoring her, even as he railed helplessly at the Fate which had dangled the promise of a joyous future before his eyes, only to snatch it away again.

He was watching her profile, framed by the opposite window, when he realized they were turning through a broken-down gate and into what appeared to be an abandoned farm. There was a grove of sycamores beside the gate, and a stony track led across a field that looked as if it had never produced a crop of anything but weeds. The carriage bumped along the track which gradually sloped downward, ending in a yard shaded by dense trees much in need of trimming. It was a gloomy and silent place. Vespa felt an odd shiver between his shoulder blades. Consuela's hand tightened on his. He opened the door, said, "Stay here, love," and jumped down.

Some tumbledown outbuildings clustered near a wreck of a house sadly out of plumb and looking as if a strong breeze would topple it. Kincraig's waggon was drawn up outside a large and crumbling barn.

Pierre was already leaping off to explore the house.

Vespa started towards the barn, and Manderville howled, "Wait up, Jack! I'll go with you!" as if he were a mile away.

Vespa glanced at him but walked on and into the barn.

His lordship was there. On his knees. A man lay sprawled before him. One look told the story. Momentarily speechless with shock, Vespa halted. Then, he took off his hat and said curtly, "He's dead, sir."

"Yes." Kincraig bowed his head into his hands. "Poor fellow! Oh, the poor fellow!"

Manderville ran up. "Oh-Egad! What happened?"

Vespa bent over the dead man. "Shot. But he was beaten first: savagely. It's murder, Paige."

They had both seen death in many terrible forms on the battlefield but like Vespa, Manderville had a reverence for life. "Poor devil!" he exclaimed, paling. "This was your-er, friend, my lord?"

Kincraig nodded and said brokenly, "My very good friend. Known Ivan ... all my life. God! I didn't bargain for ... for anything like this."

Disgusted, Vespa thought, 'Well, you should have!'

Manderville said, "He's been dead for some hours, I'd guess. We'd best have a look round. The killers may have waited for us."

Kincraig shook his head. "They'd have attacked when I drove in. No, I fancy this brave gentleman sent them off on a false trail, bless him."

"If he came in a waggon, whoever did this has made off with it." Vespa added ironically, "And presumably, his fragment of the Khusraw Carpet. There are cart tracks leading away to the south."

"What do you mean to do, sir?" asked Manderville.

Kincraig looked very shaken. "I-don't know yet. I must-"

"Have done," interrupted Vespa harshly. "This fiasco has gone on long enough! You've led me on a merry chase, my lord, but I am not so blind as you appear to think, and I'll brook no more of your devious little games."

Kincraig sighed heavily, but did not respond.

Manderville said a bewildered, "What fiasco?"

"The one I have foolishly drawn you into," said Vespa, "for which I apologize. But it is over now and I'll not subject Consuela to one more unnecessary hour of peril. We will turn west at once, and make a run for the nearest port."

"What d'you mean-west? If we're to restore Pierre to his home, we'll have to strike north!"

Vespa was driven by two emotions: the oppression of this gloomy place, and a strong premonition that time was running out. He said tersely, "Too far. We'll find a boat and a captain willing to sail around to the Golfe de St.-Malo. I want Consuela off French soil by tomorrow!"

"We'll still have about a thirty-five mile journey overland," said Kincraig glumly. "Two or three days, at the least."

"If we push the horses hard we can get there in half that time," rasped Vespa.

Staring at him, Manderville said, "I don't pretend to guess what bee you've taken into your bonnet, mon Capitaine, but you can't push horses hard when they're hauling a load like his lordship's waggon. They'll have to be rested and-"

"Whoever murdered this poor fellow is after what Lord Kincraig is carrying," snapped Vespa. "They'll be searching for the waggon so it must be abandoned. You'll not object, my lord." His smile was humorless. "Since your late friend here evidently failed to bring you his piece of the legendary carpet."

Lord Kincraig met his contemptuous gaze wistfully. "You're perfectly right, my dear boy. The waggon must be abandoned."

"What?" gasped Manderville.

Vespa had been sure his father would protest, and waited for the next stratagem.

"But it must be carefully hidden," appended Kincraig.

Vespa muttered, "I wonder why that doesn't surprise me. First, we'd best find some shovels."

While Manderville and his lordship went in search of these necessary items, Vespa hurried to the carriage and warned Consuela. She was horrified by the new tragedy, and hurried to the house to find Pierre and keep him away from the grim scene.

They buried the dead man under a small apple tree. The soil was soft from the rains and very soon their task was accomplished. Heads were bowed while Kincraig offered a reverent prayer for his friend, then Vespa and Manderville left him alone by the grave to say his last farewells.

Walking over to the waggon, Manderville said low-voiced, "What a ghastly thing. What kind of ghoul would kill a fellow like that?"

"The kind of ghoul in search of information-at any price."

"I suppose so. Poor Kincraig blames himself, that's clear to see. You were beastly short with him, Jack. He's hit hard, and you might at least have tried-"

"I'm trying now," said Vespa. "Trying to guess how he'll manage to hide his damned great waggon."

Consuela hurried to them. She was pale and shaken, and to turn her mind from its horror of the murder, Vespa told her of their latest problem. She gazed at the waggon and said hesitantly, "It will be very difficult, I think, because it is so big." Lord Kincraig came up, and she asked, "Perhaps there is a cave or-or gully nearby where we could conceal it, sir?"

"I wish I knew of one, m'dear. But as you suggest, there must be a hundred likely hiding places; I'm sure we'll come upon one."

"What are we going to hide?" asked Pierre, approaching with a hop and a skip.

Consuela said, "We can't take the waggon any further, dear. Bad men are trying to steal Lord Kincraig's carpets."

"Oh." The boy raced off and ran twice around the waggon, then came leaping back to announce that he knew just where to hide it.

Manderville ruffled his curls. "Tuck it in your coat pocket, eh, scamp?"

"Don't be silly," said Pierre, jerking his head away. "It's the best hiding place in the world! If I tell you, will you buy me some sugar cakes?"

"What you are, my lad, is a rogue! Sugar cakes, indeed!"

"We must leave at once, your lordship," urged Vespa. "If this was the work of Monteil's bullies, they may very well come back. You'd best get your personal effects together."

Kincraig nodded and went over to the waggon.

Pierre tugged at Vespa's coat. The boy had taken to regarding him with hero-worship in his eyes, and now said anxiously, "I'll show you, mon Capitaine. Please do come; it will only take a minute. One minute, only!"

Vespa could not resist that pleading look, and exchanged his irritated frown for a smile. "If it's a good hiding place you shall have a dozen sugar cakes," he promised.

"Wheee!" squealed Pierre, and taking his hand led him to the house, then stopped.

"Around the back, do you mean?" asked Vespa. "I'm afraid it would soon be found, Pierre."