Ralph promised to arrange a get-together and buy Bob a pie and a pint at the Fox and Hounds, the pub in Bideford where they had first met. Ralph believed that a face to face chat was always a better bet when you wanted to tease out a difficult problem. He smiled when he pictured Bob chasing the last scrap of his meat pie round his plate when they met before, and he enjoyed Bob’s ‘free spirit’ attitude towards life.
The next day Ralph drove Cynthia and Lance in the Jag and Katie followed carefully in the Morgan. They found the garage as Bob had explained. It was quite a drive from Clovelly, but Katie had agreed that it was better safe than sorry and that her car had to be fixed. She had always left it in the garage at the cottage and driven back to London with Ralph, but she wanted to have the option of taking it back to Chelsea. It would be nice to have it there so she could just jump in and drive down to see Ralph at Surbiton or take her friends out for the day.
Joe was enthusiastic about working on the car and told Ralph that once he had looked it over, he would phone with an estimate for the work.
***
It was a beautiful warm summer day with a cooling breeze and just the occasional white cloud drifting across the green rolling hills. Ralph drove to the site of the dig at Sherracombe, as having read the article about the treasure and the body being found, Cynthia wanted to see it firsthand. She had told them that she was thinking of writing an article about it for the Kingston University Journal. She had her camera at the ready. Ralph was slightly hesitant, but he thought that being at the scene might give him some ideas about how to proceed. He was no nearer to thinking of a way to help Marian than he had been when she first spoke to them about Daniel and those wretched photos. He wondered if by chance he could find someone who knew Daniel Kaminsky. It all seemed a bit tenuous, and he was preoccupied when he pulled up at the site.
“What a beautiful spot, Ralph,” said Katie. “It’s hard to believe that something so awful happened here.”
The site was cordoned off with police tapes. A notice said:
Crime Scene - Police – Keep Out
“If these moors could talk,” said Katie. “Who knows what the early Brits got up to, and I don’t expect that the Romans were saints. Finding the odd body or two around in those times would have been everyday business.”
They stood and looked out over the valley below where a small stream tumbled among the rocks. The sheep that grazed on the hillside gave the odd bleat as the wind sighed through the tall trees.
“They must have needed the water for smelting the iron ore,” Ralph observed. “I wonder if they had time to admire the scenery.”
“I doubt it,” Katie said. “For them it must have been just another workaday. I wonder who decided to squirrel away that treasure. I’ll bet they did it on a moonlit night so someone could keep an eye out for the Roman soldiers while his pals dug the hole.”
“Or it could have been a couple of Roman soldiers who planned to desert on the way back to Rome and come back when the coast was clear to collect their stash,” said Cynthia. “It’s a good job it wasn’t paintings, or the only thing left would be a few rotten nails and not even a frame.”
They wandered around up on the moor for a while longer, each one speculating on how and why the treasure was left in the first place.
“I saw a pub as we drove up,” Lance said. “Anyone else ready for lunch?”
“I wouldn’t mind checking out the menu,” Katie agreed as they headed back to the car.
Ralph drove to the crossroads. A short way further on they saw a sign for The Bell.
The old pub provided a picture postcard setting. The whitewashed walls and thatched roof nestled behind the deep red roses that climbed over the doorway. The back drop of green hills made it stand out against the blue skyline.
“Only a few cars outside, so it’s either no good or full of unfriendly locals,” said Cynthia. “Katie and I’ll wait outside at one of those tables with the umbrellas while you two go in and see if the natives are friendly. We’ll give you ten minutes before we call out the cavalry.”
“We might as well give it a try,” said Ralph. “I don’t mind the locals. I’m thinking of becoming one,” said Ralph.
“Come on Cynthia, these two may need our help.” They all stepped through the narrow door. Lance and Ralph had to duck under a solid oak beam that must have been there since the place was built.
Inside it was welcoming. There was a large inglenook fireplace, and polished horse brasses adorned the walls. As Cynthia had predicted, there were half a dozen locals at the bar who never turned around to look at the newcomers; a typical ritual that was played out in English pubs whenever strangers dared to venture in.
“Welcome to The Bell, folks. Name’s Rob. What can I get you?” Asked the jovial publican. “We don’t get many folks around ‘til a bit later in the year when the local campsite fills up. Just ignore this ugly lot,” he said with a wave of his arm towards the people at the bar. “Most of ‘em don’t even speak English; not what you’d recognize any roads.” Everyone laughed and the tension was broken.
An old man at the bar said, “at least they’re not the police, unless it’s them plains-clothes types from the telly.” There were loud guffaws from the others, and the author of the witty remark added, “no offense, ma’am.”
“Steady on, Seth. You’ll go too far one
