“Drug dealers deal in cash, which can be awkward for those on the receiving end. A red flag would go up at the Inland Revenue if such large sums were to appear suddenly in a private bank account.” Damian pointed to strips of rubber that ran along the inside edges of the container’s lid and rim. “The gaskets form an airtight seal—that’s why the box was hard to open. Designed to keep out moisture, I imagine. Custom-made by the same firm that builds their shipping containers, no doubt.”
He didn’t need to explain who “they” were. No one but the islanders could have used the hidden cavern as a bank vault.
“Please note the conspicuous absence of locks,” he went on.
“I don’t suppose burglars get down here too often,” I commented.
“Let’s open the rest,” he suggested.
I followed Damian with the light—which was none too steady—as he crawled from one chest to the next, popping latches and lifting lids. Ten of the remaining containers were filled to the brim with cash, but the eleventh fulfilled my prophecy.
It was filled with treasure.
In truth, the container was only half full, but the half that remained was enough to make my eyes start from their sockets. Goblets, coins, candle-sticks, and many pieces of jewelry lay jumbled together in a gleaming gold-and-silver heap. Some of the objects were enameled, some were encrusted with gems, and some were decorated with interlaced patterns of birds and beasts and leaves. Each was exquisitely wrought and appeared to be of great antiquity. I sank to my knees beside Damian and held my hand out to the glittering hoard, half expecting to warm myself by its glow.
“Sir Percy was quite correct when he described his people as resourceful,” Damian said sardonically. “They’re smuggling antiques as well as drugs. Don’t touch,” he added, gripping my wrist as I reached for a golden goblet. “We don’t want to leave more fingerprints than we have to.”
A pang of disappointment shot through me when he closed the box, and I followed somewhat reluctantly as he retraced his steps, closing each of the containers in turn.
“Well,” I said sadly, “we’ve found the evidence you wanted.”
“We have indeed,” he agreed. “I’ll speak with Sir Percy when we get back to Dundrillin. I’ll leave it to him to contact the authorities.” He closed the last container and stood. “It would be best to leave everything as it was when we found it. Come along. We have a wall to mend.”
We rebuilt the man-made rockfall and returned to the monks’ cave, but we didn’t have much to say once we got there. I was depressed by our discovery because of the pain it would cause Sir Percy. Damian was no doubt envisioning the route he would take when he attacked the cliffs at sunrise.We both nearly jumped out of our skins when a grinding creak sounded overhead and a voice floated down the staircase.
“Lori? Damian? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
“It’s Elliot,” I said, thunderstruck. “What’s Elliot doing here?”
“Rescuing us, apparently.” Damian turned on his light and ran to the bottom of the stairs, calling, “Yes, we’re here! Stay where you are! We’ll be right up!”
My heart was so light as I climbed to freedom that my knees didn’t dare complain. Elliot Southmore had the good sense to keep his powerful flashlight pointed away from us as we emerged from the black hole, but even the cloud-crowded moon seemed too bright to my light-sensitive eyes. Squinting against the glare, I watched in amazement as Elliot single-handedly lowered the memorial tablet back into place.
“You’re stronger than you look,” I said.
“It’s lighter than it looks,” he said in return, brushing grit from his palms. “You won’t have to walk back to the castle. I parked the car at MacAllen’s croft.”
“I don’t care about the car,” Damian said impatiently. “How did you know where to find us? How did you open the tomb? I couldn’t budge the blasted slab.”
“You didn’t know how to work the latches,” Elliot told him.
“Latches?” said Damian, bending toward the slab. “What latches?”
“Sir Percy will explain everything,” said Elliot. “Let’s get down to the car, shall we? The storm Sir Percy predicted is moving in, and I’d rather not be caught out in it.”
“Elliot!” I cried, stamping my foot out of sheer exasperation. “You have to tell us—”
“Sir Percy will explain everything,” he repeated doggedly, and headed downhill, toward MacAllen’s croft.
Nineteen
Elliot Southmore delivered us to the castle before the first drops of rain fell, but a threatening gust of wind chased us across the courtyard and heavy clouds swallowed the moon as we gained the entrance hall.
“Sir Percy is waiting for you in the library,” Elliot informed us. “If you’d care to change first—”