"Passably," I replied offhandedly. "There is a market cross, a church, a score or so of stone houses, a castle more or less in ruin, and a----"
"A castle, sayest thou?" he interrupted excitedly. "And who lives there?"
"Ah! Now, concerning this castle," he remarked, tapping his clay pipe on his heel with such vehemence that the stem broke in three places, "I have heard that a goodly store of treasure lies hidden there. In fact, an old comrade of mine, who lay stricken to death on the field of Marston Moor, did bestow upon me a paper whereby the treasure should be mine. But either he was befooling himself or me, for I could find nothing."
"Where did you look?" I enquired disinterestedly.
"Where did I look? Now, out on me for a dolt! I delved every night for more than a fortnight, till the countryside rang with tales of the ghost of Holwick, and none would venture near o' nights, and hardly by day."
He looked fixedly at me for a moment, as if suspecting my thoughts, then from his pocket he produced the identical metal box that he had filched from my father's corse. Again I could hardly refrain from springing upon him; but discretion is ever the better part of valour.
From the box he drew a folded paper, yellow with age, and discoloured and torn with frequent usage.
"Mark you, what a jargon! 'Without ye two tall of ye thirty-two paces right dig Holwick may the treasure give full out mine whereas my----' Did ever a man have such a frail clue?"
"Do? I dug thirty-two paces from the castle walls on all sides save the west, for at that distance there was naught but a muddy stream. It might be thirty-two paces from the church, the cross, or what not. But I have a mind to make one more attempt ere I go to France. If that fails, then my right I'll sell to the first Jew that makes me an offer."
"Let me see if I can make aught of it," I said, carelessly stretching out my hand. To my delight Joyce handed it to me, and I saw the writing I knew so well.
For over an hour we talked, I, for my part, throwing out idle suggestions and listening to Joyce's explanations, trying at the same time to commit the apparently senseless words to memory.
Suddenly the door was flung open and the governor appeared. With a motion of his hand he signed for Joyce to withdraw, and the villain went out, leaving the precious document in my hands. Major Van der Wycke used to do the rounds in a somewhat erratic fashion, and for this once I thanked his eccentricity. When he went he desired the sergeant to accompany him, and for the time being I was at liberty to copy the mysterious message.