“I’ll be a few minutes. Would you care for a cup of coffee in the kitchen?”
“Gee, sure!” Harold said wholeheartedly. He had been ill at ease in the room, whose carpeting seemed to be as thick as the jute piles at Sing Sing. The kitchen, he was sure, was equally well appointed, but it would be more his style.
“Fine,” Pugh said, and rang for the butler. As he watched Harold lumber from the room, his eyes narrowed and his giant brain began to consider the delicate edifice of the plan he was constructing. As each wall went into place, he nodded, checked it for stability, and then moved on to the next step. And when at last the carpeting had been laid and the pictures neatly hung on the walls and properly straightened, he came to his feet and walked into his library. He located his file of newspapers, selected one a week old, checked it over carefully, and smiled. He then packed his briefcase with the necessary materials, added the newspaper, and walked into the kitchen.
“Ready,” he said to Harold.
“Great!” Harold said, relieved to be quit of the luxurious mansion. “The car’s in the drive...”
The three elderly gentlemen were seated around the kitchen table playing cards, but the card play without the aid of brandy and champagne, and with no money involved — not to mention playing with cards whose backs were known to all — was desultory to say the least. At the sound of Harold opening the front door, they all looked up in anticipation. Carruthers threw down his cards and came to his feet; the others followed suit, trailing him into the library, where Harold had ushered his guest.
“Ah, Sir Percival!” Carruthers said warmly.
“Mr. Carruthers! And Mr. Briggs and Mr. Simpson, too.” Pugh was actually not surprised to see them all there, nor did it affect his plan except in the most minor of details. His computerlike brain had already noted the facts and was in the process of handing down a print-out. Obviously a ransom note had been sent to the two at their club, and Briggs, most likely, had come to the spot where the ransom was to be delivered, probably carrying a bag with fresh clothing for Carruthers, since (a) they had no money, and (b) the shirt Carruthers was wearing seemed to be relatively clean, even if excessively patterned. And, not having any money, Briggs had also been taken into custody and a second ransom note had undoubtedly been dispatched, probably asking for twice as much, and poor Simpson, not having a clue as to what to do, had shown up and spilled the beans as to the financial bind they found themselves in. And when Clarence had tried to send them about their business as a lost cause, the three — or, more likely, Carruthers — had come up with this parchment business. Which, Pugh said to himself in satisfaction, brings us up to today’s breathtaking episode; come next Saturday and bring sixpence. All of the above ratiocination having taken but a fraction of a second, he continued speaking seemingly without pause. “And how are you all keeping?”
“Fine!” Carruthers said with a wide smile, answering for them all. “The reason we asked you here — ”
“Quiet! No hints!” Clarence said sternly, and came forward to introduce himself. “Sir Percival, my name is Clarence—”
“Alexander. I know,” Sir Percival said in a kindly tone. “Harold was good enough to do the introductions while we were driving here. How do you do, sir?”
“I’ll do a lot better once you translate something in Latin for me,” Clarence said, and turned to glare at the three. “And like I said, no hints!” He turned back to Sir Percival, bringing the scroll to the table and unrolling it. He pointed. “Here you are, Sir Percival. Just what is this thing?”
Pugh bent over the table looking profoundly studious. In his mind’s eye he could see little Briggs crossing his fingers behind his back, and could imagine Simpson wetting his lips nervously, but he was equally sure that Billy-Boy Carruthers was looking as unconcerned and benign as ever. Patience and faith! Pugh thought with an inner smile, and brought his attention back to the parchment. He nodded slowly.
“Remarkable!” he murmured. “May I?” He took the scroll carefully and turned it over, studying the hairline cracks on the back and raising his eyebrows spectacularly at seeing the x imprinted there. He then reversed the parchment once more and continued reversing it as he compared the words on one side with the tiny lines on the other. “Truly amazing! I should not have thought it possible!”
“Yes, that’s fine, but what is it?” At this point Clarence was almost pleading.
“Ah, yes, that’s why you called me here, wasn’t it? Well,” Sir Percival said in a scholarly tone, “to be brief, it appears to be a map of some sort, and a reference on the other side to a treasure this map purports to locate.” His eyes came up from the scroll and he took a deep breath. “It seems hard to believe, after all these years and with so many people searching for it through the centuries, but it appears to be the key to the Great Mogul treasure!”
Clarence leaned forward, his eyes bulging. “Are you sure?”
“Quite. One could scarcely make a mistake about a thing like that, could one?” Sir Percival put down the scroll with a sigh and smiled genially. “Yes. And now, if you don’t mind, possibly you could pay me — considering the small amount of work involved in the translation, plus the pleasure you have given me in permitting me to look upon this famous document, I think fifty pounds should do — and then could Harold drive me home? I’m expecting some friends over this afternoon for a few hands of bridge.”
“Hey!” Harold said enthusiastically. “You play—?”
“Hal, shut up!” Clarence said crossly. “Sir Percival—”
“Yes?”
“I... I—” Clarence was torn. Obviously one did not snatch people like Sir Percival Pugh. Harold had undoubtedly left fingerprints all over Sir Percival’s home when he was there, as well as probably parking in the drive where everyone could see and later identify the car. Besides, if Sir Percival Pugh were missing it would be quite a different matter from those three old nobodies. In Sir Percival’s case all Scotland Yard would be involved, and the cops would be here as soon as they could trace the large man with whom Sir Percival had left his home. And Clarence needed a covey of cops around about as much as he needed an impacted wisdom tooth.
On the other hand, what good was a genuine pirate map if he couldn’t decipher it? No. He had to get Sir Percival to tell him what the parchment said before he left. But how? Clarence cleared his throat.
“Sir Percival,” he said, “we... well, we more or less assumed it was a map of some sort, a pirate map of some sort, that is—” Clarence was trying his best to sound sincere while at the same time attempting to broadcast a threat to any who might be tempted to contradict him, no easy chore. “It’s just — well, we were hoping you would tell us a bit more—”
“More? But there really isn’t much more to be told,” Sir Percival said, sounding puzzled by the request. “As we both agree, it is a pirate map. Quite old and genuine in every respect, as far as I can judge, and relating, in my opinion, to the location of the Great Mogul treasure, lost all these years. And now, if you really don’t mind, I would like transportation back to my home. Guests this afternoon, you know,” he added a trifle apologetically.
“Wait a second!” Clarence said desperately. The old men also knew what the map said, but after their trying to con him the night before with that diploma for pig-farming nonsense — pig-farming, yet! — he wouldn’t trust their interpretation any further than he could kick a Sherman tank uphill against the wind.