"Technically?" repeated Diamond. "You sold the place?"
"On the firm understanding that I may remain here for life."
"And how long ago was this transaction?"
Miss Chilmark rested her hands on her thighs and pushed out her chest in an attempt to reassert herself. "I don't see that this is a matter for the police."
"It is if you mislead us," said Diamond. "We expect truthful statements, Miss Chilmark. If we don't get them, we ask why."
"A misunderstanding."
"I don't think so, ma'am. When did you sell?"
"In January 1993."
"A painful decision, I'm sure."
"One's circumstances alter," said Miss Chilmark philosophically.
"You had some hefty expenses to meet?"
"Do I have to go into this? It isn't easy for a single lady to exist on a private income in these expensive times. My savings were depleted through inflation and some bad investment advice, so I took stock of my position, my future, and decided it was wise to realize the asset of the house. I have no family to pass it on to. I can now face my declining years with reasonable confidence."
They left soon after. Outside in the street, Julie said, "You pressed her hard about her circumstances."
"And I haven't finished," said Diamond. "She's gone through a mint of money. I'm not convinced about the bad investments- unless it's something like a gambling habit.' We need to do some digging, Julie. You see, if she sold the house- what? — a couple of years ago, she must have made a bomb. You wouldn't buy an entire house in the Paragon for much under four hundred grand-even with a sitting tenant in the basement. What's happened to the money?"
"Banked, I expect," said Julie.
"There wasn't much sign of spending, was there? That basement could do with some redecoration. Furniture ought to be replaced-that settee, anyway. She runs a five-year-old car. Is this a woman who came into several hundred grand?"
"People do live meanly" sometimes."
"The jewelry-all that sparkly stuff-wasn't genuine, was it?"
"It looked like imitation to me," Julie admitted.
"I want you to make some discreet inquiries," he told her. "Go through the local papers for 1993. Find out which estate agent handled the sale. Go and sweet-talk them. Get the price if you can, the bank she used and the name of the new owner, presumably the old lady we first met. Once we know the bank… Can you handle this?"
"Without breaking the Data Protection Laws?"
"I didn't mention them, did I?"
"But you'd like to see a bank statement if I can rustle one up?"
"I would."
"If you say it's necessary, I'll do my best."
He turned to look her in the face. "What's this 'if you say it's necessary'? Do I sense a whiff of insurrection?"
She shook her head. "It's just that I still have a pair of handcuffs in my coat pocket. You asked me to bring them, but they weren't needed."
"Only thanks to you, Julie."
"Oh?"
"The cuffs were there to shock the old bat. Break down her defenses. You did that in a much more subtle way, with your knowledge of Chinese literature."
"Chinese?"
"Foo So."
She laughed. "Foucault's Pendulum. That isn't Chinese. It's a book by Umberto Eco, the writer she was talking about."
"I don't care. It was brilliant, Julie. It shook her rigid. Shook me, too. How on earth did you know about that?"
She said, "I don't think I'll tell you."
"Come on."
"You'll be disappointed. It was pretty obvious, really."
"No!" he said, thinking back, picturing the room. "It wasn't one of those books on the mantelpiece?"
"There you go. Am I still brilliant, or have you changed your opinion?"
He didn't answer. They were interrupted by the beeping of Julie's personal radio. She took it out. "DI Hargreaves."
"Do you have Superintendent Diamond with you, ma'am? Over," the voice from Manvers Street asked.
"Yes, I do."
"Would you tell him he's wanted urgently here? A message has just been received. We think it could be another of those riddles."
The Third Riddle
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Assistant Chief Constable, Arnold Musgrave, sat behind his desk with his hands covering his eyes as if they were sore. Across the room, from armchairs in opposite corners, John Wigfull and Peter Diamond watched in the uncomfortable knowledge that everything they had patiently and plausibly stitched together had just been unraveled.
Mr. Musgrave took a deep, troubled breath and dragged his fingers slowly down his fat features. Finally he propped his chin on his clenched fists. "To sum up, then," he said, his voice edged with reproach, "we're back with the locked room mystery we started with. Your neat theory about the narrowboat has been blown to smithereens, John."
"So we're led to believe, sir," Wigfull said with a sideward glare at Diamond.
"Sometimes I wonder if you two are singing from the same hymn sheet." Mr. Musgrave dressed him down sharply. "You can't argue with the facts. Nobody changed the padlock. It was the same one Milo Motion bought originally. The key picked up by the divers at Avoncliff fitted it perfectly. Right?"
"Right, sir," admitted Wigfull.
"Worse than that, the thief is still at large." Mr. Musgrave turned the spit relentlessly. "This new riddle turns up this afternoon, proving you were wrong about Sid Towers. He can't have been the evil genius who thinks up these damned rhymes and stole the Penny Black."
"I thought we all had a stake in that theory, sir," the maligned Wigfull couldn't stop himself from stating. "If you remember, last time we met, DS Diamond produced the paper bag with those lists of rhyming words scrawled on it. That seemed to clinch the case against Towers."
Mr. Musgrave took a breath, as if to exercise self-control under extraordinary provocation. "I don't say you're alone in your delusions, John. If this latest riddle is genuine-and I believe it is-we've all cocked up."
"Would you mind repeating the verse, sir?" Diamond asked before, his own shortcomings were opened to scrutiny.
The ACC picked a slip of paper off the desk and read the words in a monotone that underlined his distaste:
"'To end the suspense, as yours truly did,
Discover the way to Sydney from Sid.
There was a pause before Diamond said, "To Sydney? "
"It's the way this blighter works," said Wigfull. "It's gibberish. He doesn't want us making sense of the thing until after the event."
"That isn't my understanding of gibberish," Diamond said. "The other riddles did make sense."
"Yes, but only when we had all the information. There's no way we could have worked out from that first riddle that the Postal Museum was about to be done over."
"We do have a better chance now," said Diamond. "We know how two of the riddles worked out. We have some insight into the man's thinking."
"Or woman's," said Mr. Musgrave. "Let's not make any sexist assumptions. But you're right about that, Peter. Just because we didn't crack the other riddles, it doesn't mean we give up on this one. I'm as baffled as you are about this reference to Sydney. Does anyone in this case have an Australian connection?"
Diamond glanced toward Wigfull. "It hasn't come up."
"What about the first line: 'To end the suspense, as yours truly did?"
Wigfull, touchingly eager for some credit, now took a more positive line: "That 'yours truly' is worth noting-the sort of old-fashioned expression that was used before, with words like 'thee' and 'whither.' Not quite so dated as those, I have to say, but it fits the style of the earlier pieces."
Mr. Musgrave said, "I don't think there's any question that this comes from the same source. The typeface is the same, and I'm pretty sure the paper is as well."