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“Maybe he dropped it without knowing.”
I shook my head. “No, not where I found it. Someone would have had to place it there deliberately. Besides, he couldn’t have dropped it loose like this. He carried it round in a plastic case, the kind collectors use.”
“He’d have dropped the whole thing, you mean.”
“Yes. Of course, the obvious answer is that this isn’t Harry’s coin at all, that it belongs to someone else. But still, it’s solid silver, and terribly old, and you’d have to be mad to put it in… well, to put it where I found it.”
Paul was silent for a minute. Shaking a cigarette loose from his nearly empty packet he lit it with a thoughtful frown. “If you’re really worried, you could call the police.”
“And tell them what? That I’ve found a coin that may or may not be my cousin’s?” I smiled, knowingly. “They’d send me packing for wasting their valuable time.”
“So you don’t want to bother the police,” Paul summarized. “OK. There must be some other way of finding out whether he’s been here.”
“Well, I can’t think of any.”
“You said he was coming here to do some research.”
“Yes.”
“And where would he go to do that?”
I shrugged, a little helplessly. “I don’t know, really. The library, perhaps, or the château… no, wait,” I broke off suddenly, remembering. “He did say he was meeting someone. Some man who’d read one of Harry’s articles and was offering some useful information about tunnels.”
“You’re sure it was a man?”
I thought back, closing my eyes as I replayed the week-old conversation in my head. “Yes, positive.”
“Remember his name?”
“No.” I opened my eyes again, faintly frustrated. “No, I don’t. I think he only said the first name.”
“Is he French or English?”
“French,” I said with certainty. “He wrote his letter in French, I do remember that, only Harry said the fellow must know English because the article—the article about Queen Isabelle’s treasure—had been published in an English journal.”
“Right,” said Paul. “So we’re looking for a local history nut who knows the tunnels pretty well and reads British history journals.” He smiled at me above the burning cigarette. “Sounds like a case for Sherlock Holmes.”
“Impossible, you mean.”
He grinned. “I mean it’s something I could probably look into for you. I don’t think there’d be too many guys in Chinon fitting that description, and the few who do must hang around the library. It’s just down the street, here,” he nodded out the window. “I can drop in tomorrow, if you like, and ask around. And if you want to take another look around the chapelle to see if your cousin left anything else there, I’m sure I could sweet-talk Christian into lending me the keys.”
“Would you?”
“Sure. Sweet-talking is one of my specialties.” He smiled, blowing smoke. “I have to do a lot of it with my brother.”
I smiled back. “Where is Simon, by the way?”
“Don’t know. He took off after lunch, treasure-hunting, and I haven’t seen him since. After last night’s ghost story, he’s been unstoppable, you know—two Isabelles, two hidden treasures, twice the chance of finding something.”
“Look on the bright side,” I told him. “At least he won’t be quite so eager to leave Chinon, now. You’ll get to stay a few more days.”
“Longer than that,” he reminded me, sagely. “Don’t you remember? The Echo told Simon he’d never get me to leave.” Leaning back, he stretched his arms above his head. “Listen, do you want a drink or something? Coffee?”
I looked round the deserted room. “Is the bar open, then?”
“Oh, sure. Thierry’s in the back room, doing paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” It seemed an odd thing for the bartender to be doing, and Paul smiled at my reaction.
