"Sir?"
"Why would he create a situation in which the very larger part of his estate could come to me, of all people?"
James paused in his cleaning and looked up. With a firm gaze he said,
"Lord Alfred held you in very high regard, sir, and, with all due respect, there isn't really anyone else living to whom he could have made such a gesture." He lowered his head and resumed his scrubbing.
Still marvelling at this remarkable turn of events, Charles picked up his legal pad and began to play the film again. Since the curtains where now open, the image on the screen was not so clear. However, this time he did not need to see, only to listen; and, when the words of the poem were recited, he began to write them down. Since his speed at shorthand was decidedly rusty, he needed to hear four further recitations to make sure he had the words written correctly. Then he sat in silence, reading them over and over. What could they mean? Then it occurred to him that he did not even know what a cypress tree looked like. Perhaps he needed to find out? A quick scan of the library shelves enabled him to find a large illustrated dictionary; and he was interested to discover that as well as being the name of a tree, the word 'cypress' also described a type of thin black fabric, often associated with funerals.
Almost out of breath, Matthew shoved open the small wooden gate, set into a fragile-looking fence with flaking white paint, and lurched into the cemetery. As he entered, the sounds of the crashing waves from the nearby ocean receded. No birds sang here, and the wind respectfully kept its distance. This quiet haven lay virtually hidden from view, being bordered on three sides by a combination of tall hedges and coniferous trees. The cemetery itself, though, was in a state of disrepair. What had once been well kept foliage and neat topiary was now messy and unkempt. Piles of old dry leaves were everywhere covering the ground, along with a mass of poison ivy, whose creeping branches threatened to trip up all but the most careful of visitors. The last interring had occurred long before Lord and Lady Willoughby had moved into Heston Grange and many of the inscriptions on the gravestones had now all but worn away through constant exposure to the elements.
Glancing this way and that, Matthew's attention was drawn to the memorial at the far end of the grave site. Standing apart from the others, and on its own plinth, this one must have been in honour of an owner of Heston Grange who was especially esteemed. In its prime it would have looked immaculate, with all kinds of ornate carving in the stonework round the sides, but now it was rather weather beaten, and a number of weeds grew around its base. Its top was a flat piece of white marble and — Matthew suddenly noticed — it was directly beneath two overhanging trees. He didn't really know anything about different varieties of tree but, he wondered, could these be the cypress trees mentioned in the poem? He began to examine the grave closely, circling it and looking for anything that might provide some sort of further clue. What he really needed, he realised, was to go back to the house and write down the words of that blasted poem. He was just turning to leave when he noticed, near the base of the plinth on which the memorial stood, that one of the pieces of stone seemed to be a little out of alignment. Crouching down, he also found that its position exposed an edge which appeared unsullied by the ravages of time. Had this stone been moved recently? He reached out and pushed it. It was loose! Getting down on his knees and bringing both hands to bear on the stone, he managed to loosen it further, creating a gap into which he could slide his fingers. He was then able to grasp the stone and, little by little, he worked it backwards until, all at once, the whole stone slid out, revealing the dark cavity behind. The opening was only just large enough for Matthew to thread his hand inside. His wrist and forearm became grazed on the surrounding stonework as he groped about, feeling for — for what? He didn't know, but hoped it would be obvious if he did manage to discover anything. His searching fingertips were just finding damp earth and he would feel an occasional tickle as some insect or other scurried across the back of his hand. Then, suddenly, he felt an object that was far too geometrically defined to be found naturally in such a location. Gently taking hold of it, he carefully eased both it and his hand back through the opening in the memorial and brought his find out into the light of day. It was a small grey metal box with a hinged lid. When he saw it, Matthew gasped in surprise and felt his pulse quicken. He recognised the box as being one that his father used to keep in his study. Slowly and deliberately, he moved away from the grave and sat down against one of the overhanging trees. Holding the box in front of him, he took a deep breath and slowly opened the lid.
It took him a moment to register what he saw. According to the film, it was a blue sapphire that his father was going to hide, so what was this red jewel doing here? He picked it up but then realised immediately that it was nothing but a plastic imitation. Then he noticed the piece of paper which had been lying beneath it. Taking it from the box and unfolding it, he read, "You didn't really think I'd make it that easy, did you? Ha ha!" Matthew cursed and threw the worthless gem into the bushes.
Meanwhile, Charles was still in the library, reading and re-reading the words of the poem. What was he trying to find? What was he looking for? He hadn't any idea. He watched the film yet again. Still no luck. Lord Alfred's words seemed to mock him from the screen. "The clues are not really that difficult; I'm sure you will see through them eventually." Well, Charles certainly hadn't seen through these 'easy' clues up to now. He stood up and placed the poem carefully in his pocket. Glancing down at the still damp patch on the carpet it seemed that James had made a pretty good job of removing the stain. Once it was dry you would probably never know there had been a spillage at all.
He walked out into the corridor, and paused looking in both directions. As he took in the large number of doors along this corridor alone he began to realise the potential magnitude of the task that he was facing. How many other corridors did this crumbling old mansion contain? Charles wasn't sure, but he knew it was a lot; and the lack of regular symmetrical design didn't help either. Anyone, throughout the whole of history, who had ever wanted to hide anything, could not have chosen a better hiding place than Heston Grange. Being in want of any sort of idea as to what this cryptic poem might mean, Charles walked off into the maze of corridors in the hope that some sort of inspiration might strike.
Matthew ran back into the entrance hall, now totally furious. He made straight for the nearest closed door, wrestled it open and stomped into the room beyond. Every item of furniture in the room was covered with a dust sheet. He gave a cry of exasperation and began frantically pulling them off, one after another. Great clouds of dust billowed enthusiastically into the air and span in his wake as he worked his way round the room. He uncovered what turned out to be an antique writing bureau and immediately began pulling open all of its drawers, rifling through the contents without any thought as to whether they were important or carefully ordered. A single all-consuming passion filled his mind: Find that sapphire! Find it!
He paused in his search as he became aware of a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. James stepped fully into view as he entered the room. Matthew looked at the floor, feeling a little sheepish as he stood in the jumbled pile of papers now lying at his feet.
"Please don't worry about the mess, master Matthew. I'll tidy it up."
The habit of a lifetime of service ensured his tone remained civil. Matthew mumbled something that might have been half an apology and headed for the door. He was about to make his exit, but then he hesitated and turned back to see the elderly butler picking up all the dropped papers. He returned to him and joined in with the clear-up.