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“And there's a dreadful old family poem,” Swinburne added,“which says Consume if thou wouldst uncover. We think the diamondis hidden somewhere under the two wheat fields at the front of thehouse. Initially, we speculated that the doggerel was instructingwhoever wanted to find it to get rid of the crop and dig, butperhaps there's an easier way.”
“You mean a secret passage from the kitchen?” Trounce asked.
“Or, more specifically, from one of the famous pantries,” Burtonresponded.
“Gad!” Trounce exclaimed. Then again: “Gad!”
“The Claimant is due here soon, so I suggest we have a pokearound straightaway. I don't know how welcome we'll be in the manoronce he sets foot in it.”
Trounce jerked his head in agreement.
They left the smoking room and sought out Colonel Lushington,who they found pacing in the study, next to the library.
He looked up as they entered. “More news,” he a
“Why so?” Burton asked.
“The Claimant, under the name Roger Tichborne, will contest myright to act on the family's behalf. He'll try to have me removedfrom the house. Ejected. Out on my ear, so to speak. However, ifhe's not Roger Tichborne, we'll counter by suing for a criminaltrial. Court. Jury. So forth. King versus Claimant. ”
“Good!” Trounce grunted. “That would bring Scotland Yard in onthe matter.”
Lushington agreed. “High time. I'd certainly like to know moreabout what the Claimant fellow got up to in Australia when he wascalling himself Tomas Castro!”
“Rest assured, Colonel, the moment it becomes a criminal matter,the Yard will send someone to the colonies.”
Burton interrupted: “Colonel, it may seem trivial and badlytimed but, as I mentioned last night, I have good reason forwanting to examine the kitchens. I assure you it's relevant to thiswhole affair. Would you mind?”
Lushington looked puzzled but nodded. He summoned Bogle and toldhim to take Burton, Swinburne, and Trounce “below stairs.”
They found that the basement of the manor was divided into agreat many small rooms. There were the servants’ sleeping quarters,sitting rooms, and washrooms, storerooms, coal cellars, sculleries,and a dining room. The kitchen was by far the largest chamber, andit opened onto three pantries, all stocked with cured meats, jarsof preserved comestibles, sacks of flour, dried beans and sugars,cheeses, oils, and vinegars, vegetables, kegs of beer, and racks ofwine.
“Let's take one each,” Burton suggested. “Check the walls andfloors. We're looking for a concealed door.”
He stepped into the middle room and began to move sacks and jarsaside, stretching over the piled goods to rap his knuckles againstthe plaster-coated back wall. He heard his colleagues doing thesame in the rooms on either side.
As thorough as he was, he found nothing.
“I say, Captain, come and have a look at this!” DetectiveInspector Trounce called.
Burton left his pantry and entered the one to the right.
“Got something?”
“Perhaps so. What do you make of that?”
The Scotland Yard man pointed to the top of the back wall, whereit abutted the ceiling. Initially, Burton couldn't see anythingunusual, but upon closer inspection he noticed a thin, dark lineru
“Hmm,” he grunted, and heaved himself up onto a beer barrel.
Leaning against the wall, he reached up and ran his thumbnailalong the line. Then he stepped down and said: “I'm not theslightest bit peckish, so I'd rather not eat and drink my waythrough this lot despite the poem's directive. Let's settle forclearing it out into the kitchen.”
He called Swinburne.
“What?” came the poet's voice.
“Come here and lend some elbow grease!”
The three men quickly moved the contents of the pantry out,exposing every inch of the rear wall.
“The line extends down the sides and across the base of thewall,” Burton observed.
“A door?” asked Swinburne.
“I can't see any other explanation. There's no sign of a handle,though.”
Trounce placed both his hands against the wall and pushed.
“Nothing,” he grunted, stepping back.
The three men spent the next few minutes pressing differentparts of the barrier. They then examined the rest of the small roomin the hope of finding a lever or switch of some sort.
“It's hopeless,” the inspector grumbled. “If there's a way toget that blasted door open, it's not in here.”
“Perhaps we've overlooked something in the poem,” Swinburnemused.
“Possibly,” answered Burton. “For the moment, we'd better getback upstairs. We don't want to miss the Claimant's grand entrance.We'll return later. Algy, go and track down Herbert and tell himwhat's what. He can be poking about down here while we're occupied.I'll ask the cook to leave this room as it is for the timebeing.”
Some little time later, the king's agent and his companionsjoined Colonel Lushington, Hawkins, and Jankyn in the library. Itwas just past midday.
The colonel, twisting the points of his extravagant muttonchops,paced up and down nervously.
“Mr. Hawkins,” he said, “tell me more about this Kenealyfellow.”
“Who's Kenealy?” Burton asked.
“Doctor Edward Vaughan Hyde Kenealy,” said Hawkins. “He's theClaimant's lawyer. He also considers himself a poet, literarycritic, prophet, and would-be politician. He's athrough-and-through Rake-a member of the i
“Well now!” Burton exclaimed. “That's very interestingindeed!”
Laurence Oliphant and Henry “The Mad Marquess” Beresford hadformerly led the Rakes, but both had been killed by Burton lastyear, and the faction had been in disarray for some months.
“Not John Speke, surely!” Burton muttered to himself. Recentevents would make a lot more sense if Speke was guiding the Rakesand using them to get at the black diamonds, but, somehow, Burtonjust couldn't see it. His former partner didn't possess leadershipqualities, and furthermore, he was extremely conservative andrepressed in character-not at all representative of the Rakephilosophy.
Burton wondered whether he'd be able to prise some informationout of the Claimant's lawyer.
“Interesting is not a word I'd use to describe Edward Kenealy,Sir Richard,” Henry Hawkins was saying. “Barking mad would be mychoice. He's as nutty as a fruitcake, and a confounded brute, too.Ten years ago, he served a month in prison on a charge ofaggravated assault against his six-year-old illegitimate son. Theboy had been beaten half to death and almost strangled. Kenealy hassince been accused-but not charged-with a number of assaultsagainst prostitutes. He's a very active follower of the Marquis deSade and adheres to the belief that inflicting pain weakens socialconstraints and liberates the spirit.”
Detective Inspector Trounce eyed Algernon Swinburne, who frownedback and muttered: “Some are givers, some are takers,Inspector.”
Hawkins continued: “He also subscribes to a rather incoherenttheology which claims that a spiritual force is begi
Burton shifted uneasily, remembering Countess Sabina's prophecyand his subsequent strange dream.
Hawkins went on: “He's published a number of long-winded andnonsensical texts to promote this creed but, if you ask me, theonly useful information one can draw from them is the fact thattheir author is an egomaniac, fanatic, and fantasist. All in all,gentlemen, a very dangerous and unpredictable fellow to have as ouropponent.”