The Messiah Secret by James Becker Read Free Book Online Page B

ancient fridge emitted a constant clattering and wheezing noise.
    Clustered around a cleared area at one end of the tablewere the other four members of the assessment team, steaming mugs in front of them. Angela had met them all individually as she and Richard Mayhew had walked around the property, and she knew them all by sight from her work at the British Museum.
    Angela and Mayhew made themselves coffee, Mayhew adding milk from a one-litre plastic carton he took from the elderly fridge, then sat down.
    ‘You’ve inspected this old pile, then, Angela,’ said David Hughes, a thin, balding and bespectacled expert on English furniture. ‘What do you think?’
    Angela shrugged. ‘Mainly, I think it’s a shame. If Bartholomew had spent less of his time and effort chasing rainbows and collecting antiques that he just locked away, and a bit more money keeping the place properly maintained and repaired, this would still be a great estate. As it is, I guess that as soon as the dust has settled Oliver’s heirs will bring in the bulldozers, flatten the house and outbuildings and a modern housing estate will spring up.’
    ‘They might find getting planning permission difficult though,’ Mayhew said. ‘This is firmly in the green belt, I understand.’
    ‘Seen any decent china yet?’ Hughes asked.
    Angela shook her head. ‘I’ll make a start first thing tomorrow morning. Is this everything?’ she asked, pointing at the cluttered table.
    ‘That’s most of it, yes. There are a few trunks and boxes we’ve got to check up in the attics, and we’ve only had aquick look around the cellars, but it doesn’t look as if there’s anything much down there.’
    ‘Is there anything else you need before you start work, Angela?’ Mayhew asked.
    ‘Yes. I might just as well pack the stuff away as soon as I’ve looked at it, so can somebody find me a couple of crates or boxes, one for the good stuff and the other for the rest? Oh, and tape and bubble-wrap to protect the bits of china?’
    ‘There are about half a dozen tea chests in one of the attics,’ Hughes said, ‘and we brought a couple of rolls of bubble-wrap with us. I’ll bring everything you need in the morning.’
    ‘Right, people,’ Richard Mayhew said, glancing at his watch, ‘let’s call it a day.’
    Silence had fallen over Carfax Hall.
    About ten minutes after Richard Mayhew turned the key in the lock on the front door, a faint scraping sound became audible in one of the attic rooms, a pile of cardboard boxes was moved slowly to one side and a grubby, sweat-lined face peered out from behind it.
    The man listened intently for about thirty seconds, then stepped forward. His casual clothes – jeans and a T-shirt – were covered in dust and cobwebs, and his limbs were cramped from remaining in the same position for the previous three hours, ever since he’d sneaked in through the front door and crept up into the attic to hide.
    The man made his way down the main stairs to the ground floor and walked into the huge reception room on one side of the front hall. He strode across to the closest of the tall windows and cautiously looked out, checking that there were no cars left on the gravel parking area.
    Then he nodded, pulled a nylon bag out of his pocket and opened it on the floor near the door. He walked over to the closest packing case and started pulling out the contents, his movements urgent, but careful and concentrated. The room was enormous and the number of boxes and packing cases huge.
    Within fifteen minutes he’d selected about a dozen high-value silver objects and placed them in his bag. Ten minutes later he climbed out of a ground-floor window at the back of the house, and walked unhurriedly over to the boundary fence on one side of the property, where he’d parked his car earlier that afternoon.
    With any luck, he thought, he could probably repeat the operation three or four times that night, and then do the same thing tomorrow. If he picked