contact with the press lately?”
“Contact! I’ll say I’ve had contact. It’s got so I can’t hardly poke my nose outside the farm but they’re yammering round asking for what they call a statement. Promising me money for it. One of ‘em, from a London paper he was, he got into the house through the scullery window. I gave him a statement with the thick end of my walking stick.”
“They’re a pest,” agreed Anderson. “But I wondered if there might be one of them you could talk to. Maybe the lad from the local paper. He wouldn’t be so uppity as the others.”
“Young Richards,” said Maggs thoughtfully. “He’s not so brash as the ones from London. I expect I could talk to him. But what’s the point of it? I haven’t got nothing new to tell him.”
“That’s just it,” said Anderson. “I could suggest something which he’d be glad to print. Let me explain what I’ve got in mind.”
“It seems daft to me,” said Maggs. He had driven down to talk to Jonas.
“Let me get this straight,” said Jonas. “He wants you to let it out to the local press – preferably accidental like – that you’re so fed up with all this fuss that you’ve decided that the only way to stop it is either to find the abbey treasure, or prove that it isn’t there.”
“Right.”
“And the way you’re going to do this is to tell Mr Westall that you’ve changed your mind. He and his friends can start prospecting right away.”
“Not right away. He was very particular about that. It’s Wednesday today. I was to let him start as early as he liked on Monday morning , and then go on until he’d covered the whole farm.”
“Not until Monday. I see.” A glimmering of what was in Jock Anderson’s devious mind was beginning to dawn on Jonas. He said, “I suppose that is one way of settling the matter. I’m told he’s an expert with this particular apparatus, and if he brings a party of fellow enthusiasts with him, they ought to be able to cover the area fairly quickly. Of course, we’d have to get him to sign up the sort of agreement he was talking about before he started.”
“It’s not that part of it I mind so much. It’s the other bit.”
“Let me guess,” said Jonas. “You’ve to let it be known that after, shall we say, Saturday night, the police will no longer be guarding the farm.”
“That’s right. And I hope it makes more sense to you than what it does to me. What he suggested was that I’d had an argument with the police about paying for their help. They’d wanted to charge me five pounds an hour for having a policeman on duty. And time and a half for the weekend. So I said, if that’s the way you feel, you can take ‘em away. I’m quite capable of looking after my own fields.”
“Plausible,” said Jonas, his admiration for Jock Anderson increasing. “And I take it you were to tell the reporter that this was strictly confidential, and not for general publication.”
“That’s right. But you know how it is. People get talking.”
“I know just how it is. I admit it seems an odd thing to do, but I’ve got a feeling that if you co-operate, it could be very helpful.”
“Helpful to who?”
“To you and the police.”
“Well,” said Maggs, with a grin which exposed some ill-cared-for teeth, “if you say so. You’ve always advised me right up to now. But I’d like you to be handy, just over the weekend, in case I need you in a hurry.”
“My dear Mr Maggs,” said Jonas, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be available in my office, or my flat, from Saturday morning onwards.”
Saturday passed peacefully. It was seven o’clock on Sunday evening when Jonas’s telephone rang. It was Mr Maggs. He sounded more excited than worried. He said, “Could you come along, Mr Pickett? I’m sure I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’d like you to be here when it does happen.”
“I’ll drive right up,” said Jonas.
“Not right up.
“Contact! I’ll say I’ve had contact. It’s got so I can’t hardly poke my nose outside the farm but they’re yammering round asking for what they call a statement. Promising me money for it. One of ‘em, from a London paper he was, he got into the house through the scullery window. I gave him a statement with the thick end of my walking stick.”
“They’re a pest,” agreed Anderson. “But I wondered if there might be one of them you could talk to. Maybe the lad from the local paper. He wouldn’t be so uppity as the others.”
“Young Richards,” said Maggs thoughtfully. “He’s not so brash as the ones from London. I expect I could talk to him. But what’s the point of it? I haven’t got nothing new to tell him.”
“That’s just it,” said Anderson. “I could suggest something which he’d be glad to print. Let me explain what I’ve got in mind.”
“It seems daft to me,” said Maggs. He had driven down to talk to Jonas.
“Let me get this straight,” said Jonas. “He wants you to let it out to the local press – preferably accidental like – that you’re so fed up with all this fuss that you’ve decided that the only way to stop it is either to find the abbey treasure, or prove that it isn’t there.”
“Right.”
“And the way you’re going to do this is to tell Mr Westall that you’ve changed your mind. He and his friends can start prospecting right away.”
“Not right away. He was very particular about that. It’s Wednesday today. I was to let him start as early as he liked on Monday morning , and then go on until he’d covered the whole farm.”
“Not until Monday. I see.” A glimmering of what was in Jock Anderson’s devious mind was beginning to dawn on Jonas. He said, “I suppose that is one way of settling the matter. I’m told he’s an expert with this particular apparatus, and if he brings a party of fellow enthusiasts with him, they ought to be able to cover the area fairly quickly. Of course, we’d have to get him to sign up the sort of agreement he was talking about before he started.”
“It’s not that part of it I mind so much. It’s the other bit.”
“Let me guess,” said Jonas. “You’ve to let it be known that after, shall we say, Saturday night, the police will no longer be guarding the farm.”
“That’s right. And I hope it makes more sense to you than what it does to me. What he suggested was that I’d had an argument with the police about paying for their help. They’d wanted to charge me five pounds an hour for having a policeman on duty. And time and a half for the weekend. So I said, if that’s the way you feel, you can take ‘em away. I’m quite capable of looking after my own fields.”
“Plausible,” said Jonas, his admiration for Jock Anderson increasing. “And I take it you were to tell the reporter that this was strictly confidential, and not for general publication.”
“That’s right. But you know how it is. People get talking.”
“I know just how it is. I admit it seems an odd thing to do, but I’ve got a feeling that if you co-operate, it could be very helpful.”
“Helpful to who?”
“To you and the police.”
“Well,” said Maggs, with a grin which exposed some ill-cared-for teeth, “if you say so. You’ve always advised me right up to now. But I’d like you to be handy, just over the weekend, in case I need you in a hurry.”
“My dear Mr Maggs,” said Jonas, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be available in my office, or my flat, from Saturday morning onwards.”
Saturday passed peacefully. It was seven o’clock on Sunday evening when Jonas’s telephone rang. It was Mr Maggs. He sounded more excited than worried. He said, “Could you come along, Mr Pickett? I’m sure I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’d like you to be here when it does happen.”
“I’ll drive right up,” said Jonas.
“Not right up.
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