He nodded thoughtfully. “No doubt the law would decide that I’m my own daughter’s ward. Only too often, it does that sort of thing. Is my daughter here?”
“I’m told she is, but I haven’t seen her.”
“She may be shocked.” Mr. Fevre paused to consider the matter. “We must minimize that if we can. I dare hope that—well…”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.” A new thought struck me. “I’ve been told that ghosts are occasionally mistaken for living human beings, particularly at night.”
Mr. Fevre smiled as if quite genuinely amused. “How interesting! No doubt you also know the acid test used to distinguish between the living and the dead?”
I shook my head.
“A ghost may look and even feel quite solid, but a ghost cannot eat or drink. As soon as my salmon arrives, I shall be delighted to display my living humanity.”
“We never figured you for no spook,” Baston drawled. “Ain’t that salmon going to get cooked in the kitchen, though? My vittles too, an’ Ern’s I guess. We countin’ on Miz Heath to bring ’em out to us?”
Before Mr. Fevre or I could speak, Baston added, “She’s off runnin’ errands, is what she said. That grub’s goin’ to git cold afore she comes back.”
A ’bot stepped into the room as he finished speaking. “I shall be delighted to serve you, sir. It is my office.”
We asked it to serve our food as soon as it was ready, and busied ourselves rearranging furniture until the ’bot returned pushing a wheeled serving cart.
“You’re a detective, ain’t you?” Baston cut himself a piece of beefsteak. “What’s Miz Heath want with you? You know that?”
“I’m not actually a detective,” I explained, “just a writer who wrote books of the kind called mysteries. To populate my books, I contrived a lovely young model forced by circumstance to become a detective, an alligator hunter who hunted criminals for whom the authorities offered rewards, and a criminal who helped the police in order to defer his own arrest. Now I assume that Ms. Heath wishes to talk about one of my books.”
“What if she don’t?”
Before I could reply, Ms. Heath herself entered the room. Baston and I rose.
20
NIGHT AND DAY
“You haven’t seen a ghost?”
For some moments the question hung in the air between us. Finally I said, “I don’t think I have, although it’s said that ghosts often pass as living persons. We were talking about that a few minutes before you came in.”
“Do they really? I hope I never see it.” Ms. Heath dropped onto a spindly-legged chair and motioned for us to take our own seats.
I sat. “Is that why you checked me out? To lay a ghost for you? There must be many people better qualified than I am. I’ve never done it, but I’ll do my best if you want me to try.”
“No, of course not. Do you know of anyone else in the library who has laid a ghost? Anybody at all? If you do—”
I shook my head. “No one.”
“I checked you out to solve a mystery. Is that better? To protect me, too.”
I said, “Buck here would be a better bodyguard, I feel sure.”
“No doubt.” Ms. Heath favored Baston with a quick smile. “This gives me two of you, however. With both of you, I’m doubly protected—or so I hope. You haven’t asked me about the mystery.”
For half a second, I thought it over. “You’ll tell me whether I ask or not.”
“You’re right. It’s threefold, if you’ll allow that. First, what is the treasure hidden here?”
Baston leaned forward. “There’s treasure hid? Is this here real?”
Ms. Heath favored him with a wry smile. “It is said to be. I can’t swear to it.”
I asked, “Said to be by who?”
“The house.” She sighed. “Don’t try to cross-examine it. It doesn’t know where the treasure is, or why it was hidden. There you have the second secret I spoke of, and the third. Presumably it once knew those things.”
When neither Buck nor I spoke, she added, “Even human memories can be deleted; no doubt you know.”
I nodded reluctantly.
“Inorganic memories are easier, though it’s said that sometimes a trace remains. I’m told that an expert might uncover it.”
“I ain’t one,” Baston told her. “Neither’s Ern, or that’s my guess. Ern?”
I affirmed that he was correct, and asked why she had not called in an expert.
“It seems that all the experts are fully human. Are you aware of that? I looked high and low for one who wasn’t, and was told over and over that there were none.”
“No,” I said, “I didn’t know. What difference does that make?”
“A great deal. Their fees are—well, astronomical and far beyond my reach. I offered to share whatever they might find for me. I would take half and the expert half. My offer was declined.” Ms. Heath held out her hands in an unmistakable gesture. “I won’t offer you half, Mr. Smithe; but I’m making you the same offer I’ve already made Mr. Baston.”
I turned to him. “Did you take it?”
He nodded. “Sure did.”
“If we find the treasure,” Ms. Heath continued, “I will lie to the library, saying that I’ve lost you both and so forfeiting both my deposits. You will live here with me, in whatever wing of this enormous house you choose. You will be free to come and go as you wish, and will receive any reasonable amount of spending money whenever you ask for it.”
Baston and I stood when she rose.
“Meanwhile, you are to sleep here in the library,” she told us, “although you are free to move about the house and grounds as you wish. Your sleeping shelves are in the third room.”
When she had gone, I said, “High shelves, I bet.”
“In this place,” Baston muttered, “that there’s the best kind there is.”
He showed me the bathroom in which we could shower, and where I could change my clothes for a robe. I did so as soon as he left; naturally I hung on to my watch. Baston himself, I noticed, had retained his gun belt and both guns.
I seldom find it hard to sleep, but that night was an exception. I must have lain awake listening to the faint noises of the night for an hour or more. Eventually I clearly slept, for I woke to find myself walking toward a long, bare table ringed by eight chairs. To my left was a curved crystal wall, beyond that a rolling lawn dotted with pale groves and lit by moonlight. For seconds that became minutes I stood staring at those groves before I set off in search of a door.
In a few minutes I discovered a narrow one hidden by a curtain. Something definite about the way that door closed and clicked behind me told me I was locked out. Tugging at the handle confirmed it.
In one way being locked out seemed serious; in another it did not. Serious because my patron was likely to think I had tried to run away. Not serious because it seemed to me that I was bound to find an unlocked door or an open window soon, given the size of the house, or that Baston might wake up and let me in.