"True, but I think it may be about to run out of petrol."
“Very funny”.
They walked as briskly as possible through the splattering raindrops towards the car. Charles climbed into the driving seat and slammed the door as quickly as he could, to avoid the rainwater landing on the plush interior; but Matthew didn’t seem to care. After all, it wasn’t his car. Charles started the engine and the heavy vehicle began to move back towards the house.
Chapter 11
"I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you, sir," said James as he filled Charles' glass with a deep ruby Merlot from an exquisitely crafted decanter. As Charles received the glass, the flames from the hearth reflected and sparkled through the fruity liquid.
Outside, the darkness of night had closed in and, somewhere deep below stairs, Mrs Gillcarey was busily putting the finishing touches to yet another of her home-cooked gastronomic delights.
"That's kind of you, James. We went to pay Meg a visit at the Lodge."
"Yes, sir, Mrs Gillcarey mentioned that she had spoken to you about her, so I guessed that to be where you probably were. Have you been able to make any progress with the… er… puzzle?"
Matthew, sitting in a chair on the other side of the fireplace, spoke up.
"Yes and no. We did manage to locate this, which we think may be significant." He held up the sphinx and it was immediately clear that James recognised it.
"Dad mentioned a sphinx and a pyramid in his poem and we're confident that this is the sphinx he was referring to, but we're not quite sure how to progress from here."
"It has been a fair while since I last saw that model, sir," said James. "I believe it was a gift to Meg from His Lordship."
"Yes, that's correct, and she kindly agreed to lend it to us to help us solve the riddle," said Charles.
"She always was a kindly soul," said James, and then he added, a little sadly, "Was she… quite well when you saw her?"
"She was broadly coherent, but now and then her conversation would fly off at a tangent; and she kept saying she hoped you would visit her."
The elderly butler nodded.
"Yes, I do try to go and see her as often as my duties allow. I think that perhaps I should make a little more of an effort, but I find that her gradually worsening mental condition does distress me somewhat. She was always such a joy in years gone by."
James turned away so as to keep Charles and Matthew from noticing as he dabbed a tear from the corner of his eye.
There was quiet then, and all three men were lost in their own thoughts, gazing into the flames which danced and crackled cheerfully around the logs and red hot coals.
Eventually, Charles broke the silence.
"James, do you have any idea as to the possible significance of the name 'Oscar' in the inscription on the sphinx?"
He put his head back and thought for a moment.
"Not specifically, sir. I know that Lord Alfred was quite a follower of the Oscar film award ceremonies, mainly due to the circles in which he used to move in years gone by." Then he gave a little laugh. "There is also an oscar fish in the aquarium."
"Yes, I did notice that."
"I wonder if the inscription might be referring to that in some way?"
Just then a bell tinkled and James announced, "Ah, dinner is served, gentlemen."
They moved over to the large table and waited for what they knew would be a treat. Not for the first time, Charles was thinking that he was being rather spoiled at Heston Grange.
This time, the meal was cod and haddock dauphinoise, and it was cooked to perfection. Mrs Gillcarey positively rippled with pleasure when Charles and Matthew complimented her on both its taste and texture.
"I'm not convinced that the connection between the sphinx and the Oscar awards is the right one," said Charles, between mouthfuls. "I think that's a red herring."
“No pun intended?” asked Matthew, indicating the delicious chunks of juicy fish on his plate. As they continued to feast he quipped, "If that oscar fish does have something to do with our little mystery, I hope he hasn't made an appearance in this fish dinner!"
Charles laughed — then froze. Matthew saw the sudden change.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I do believe I've got it," said Charles.
"Got what?"
"This reference to 'Oscar'. I bet it has nothing to do with films or fish."
"What is it then?"
"Isn't it obvious? Lord Alfred loved poetry. Surely he's talking about Oscar Wilde!"
"I thought Wilde only wrote stories."
"That's what he's most famous for, but he wrote a good number of poems too."
"But we've been through every book of poetry in the library… haven't we?"
They both realised simultaneously that they had, in fact, not done so.
"We were working our way through alphabetically," recalled Charles, "but we stopped when we found the book of handwritten poems."
"I was looking through a book of Tennyson at that moment," said Matthew.
"I can't quite remember what I was looking at," said Charles, "but I'm sure we hadn't reached 'W' yet."
Risking the onset of indigestion, they gobbled the rest of their dinner, giving their apologies to Mrs Gillcarey who, having re-entered the room bearing a delightfully tempting tiramisu, was more than a little disappointed as they left her standing there and hurried back to the library, where they began to scan the shelves once again.
Sure enough, there were several small books devoted to the poet, but one in particular caught Charles' eye. It was larger than the others and stood at the end of the shelf, almost acting as a book-end.
"I bet that's the one," he said, pointing to the title on its spine. It read, "The Best of Oscar Wilde."
"My tribute to Oscar's best," breathed Matthew. "Yes, that must be it."
Carefully, he slid the book from the shelf and set it down on the reading desk.
"It feels quite light for such a large book," he observed.
He moved to open the cover but found that he could not do so. It was then that they realised that this was not a book at all. In fact, it was a cleverly disguised box — which was locked.
"Let's just break the ruddy thing open," said Matthew.
In a flash of inspiration, Charles asked, "Do you still have the bunch of keys from Meg?"
"Yes, I do… here."
Charles tried one after another, with increasing frustration, but then he drew a sharp intake of breath as one of the keys finally turned and the lock clicked open. Slowly and carefully, he lifted the lid. What was visible at first were the now familiar folds of thin black fabric, which appeared to fill the box. With trembling fingers, Charles began to carefully move the folds of material aside. He gasped as the light reflected on something blue — the sapphire? But then, as he continued to unfold the cypress cloth, they both suddenly saw what it actually was, and a tingle of excitement ran through them both.
Looking up at them from the box, snugly and smugly enrobed among the folds of black fabric, was a blue plastic spool — a second roll of cine film.
Chapter 12
As the camera started to whirr and hum once again, both Matthew and Charles felt like small children on Christmas Day. They had viewed the first film on a bright sunny morning — had it really only been a couple of days ago? Now they were seeing the second instalment late at night with another violent storm raging outside.
His Lordship had, again, selected the octagonal tower room as the location from which to deliver his oration. At first, all that was to be seen was the reading desk, but then Lord Alfred himself made his entrance, in a very similar manner to that adopted for the previous occasion. Immaculately attired in his velvet smoking jacket he walked round to his leather upholstered chair behind the desk and sat. He regarded his amateur detectives from the screen for a long moment before drawing breath to speak.