Part 8

“You must have felt right chuffed when you spotted it!”

“I was, Sandra. I really was. Of course, just after that, I asked myself why this woman I had helped and whose friendship I cherished had wanted to play a trick on me. Today isn’t the first of April.”

“Oh, Oscar, my dear boy, that’s not how it is. It’s not a trick!”

“What would you call it? A game?”

“It was a test!”

“A test?”

“You think you have all the answers all the time, but it seems you don’t. It’s our turn to be cocky for a fleeting moment!”

“And doesn’t it feel good!” Troy gloated.

“I’m not the playwright, Oscar. This was all Andrew’s idea. He was the one who wanted to test you.” She turned to her childhood friend. “Tell him!”

“It’s true,” Andrew admitted, getting to his feet and clasping his hands together reverently. “I do apologize, but I was behind it all. I’m glad it’s over now and I feel bad about it. I really do. When you drink whisky with a fellow man of honour, you form a kind of unspoken bond. I’m sure you agree.”

Oscar placed his right hand, still holding the cricket ball, over his heart in a sign of acceptance of Andrew’s earnest apology.

“Sandra told me how brilliant you are, but I needed to experience your talents for myself. You see, I have a mystery of a rather peculiar nature back home in Oxfordshire. When Sandra swore that Oscar Tremont was basically the embodiment of Sherlock Holmes himself, I just had to know for certain.”

Oscar was glowing with smugness. “You did a good job, Andrew, setting the clues up to make it look like a burglary, protesting when I suggested one of you was behind it, but all the time knowing the trail would lead me to Lara. It was a three-tiered test, wasn’t it? If I’d blamed an imaginary intruder, I would have failed miserably. If I’d accused Lara and fallen for her incongruous hint, it would have been a slightly less miserable failure. Work out that it was all a mise-en-scène, and succeed!”

“Four tiers to the problem, Oscar. Not three, but four. You could have suspected Sandra of masterminding it all on her own, playing us all for fools, and you probably would have if you hadn’t guessed Lara’s “incongruous hint” was a rehearsed line.”

“I would have looked a fool if the book hadn’t been under the typewriter, but knowing the story well, it was just too much of a coincidence.”

“Well spotted!” Andrew said.

“I guess I really came through with flying colours,” Oscar congratulated himself, beaming with pride. Then his brow furrowed a little. “Wait! There isn’t a fifth tier, is there?”

Sandra laughed. “Not that I’m aware of. Andrew?”

“No. You’ve thrown light on the problem from every angle.”

“Ah, good. That’s a relief.”

“So, Oscar Tremont?”

“So what?”

“Are you interested in the case?”

“What kind of mystery is it?”

“It’s a strange one. Nothing I could even dream about reporting to the police without making a laughingstock of my family’s proud name. You see, there’s a prehistoric burial mound on my property, and in the last few weeks, during my habitual nocturnal stroll, I’ve overheard sounds that could only be caused by movement emanating from within, scratching sounds, like fingernails or bone on stone.”

“Most peculiar indeed, and disturbing! I’m quite familiar with Neolithic architecture. I’m something of an amateur historian and have visited a number of tumuli, cairns, cromlechs, and dolmens, particularly around my home in Brittany. This mound has been excavated? Is the chamber accessible?”

“It was partially excavated in the 1890s but wasn’t considered of any great significance. It was covered up and has been neglected since. It has been playing on my nerves, as you can well imagine. Do you think you can help me?”

Oscar tossed the cricket ball into the air and caught it in his cap. “Challenge accepted!”

The library filled with the roar of cheering and the thunder of applause as Oscar and Andrew shook hands.