The Seventh Scroll

read aloud the brass plate fixed to the front of it: "'The Permanent

loan of Sir Nicholas and Lady Quenton, Harper."'

He turned back to stare at Nicholas incredulously.

"And you were the one who picked on me for turning over the money from

the sale of the blue crown!" he accused him. "How could you bring

yourself to give up your share of the loot, Nicholas?"

"It wasn't easy," Nicholas admitted with a sigh, "but I was faced with a

delicate ultimatum from a certain party who is not standing a million

miles away from us at this very moment."

"Don't feel too sorry for the poor boy," Royan laughed.

"He still has a big lump of Peter Walsh's money tucked away in

Switzerland, the proceeds of the sale of the Nemes crown. I was unable

to talk him into handing everything over."

"Enough of these public disclosures of my domestic affairs, said

Nicholas firmly. "The sun is long gone, and it's whisky time. I think I

saw a bottle of Laphroaig behind the bar at the hotel, Let's go and find

out if I was mistaken." He took Royan's arm and led her away, and the

other two followed closely, laughing delightedly at his discomfort.