Finally, Meyer conceded the logic of my argument, muttered a gruff apology of sorts, and permitted me to stay. I left him brooding in the Rose Room, staring distractedly out the window.
I was relieved to be able to continue with my assignment and gratified to have found Miss Joubert's opal. However, several questions remained. Who had stolen it? When was it replaced? And, more importantly, would someone try again, with another lady's jewels?
If the opal had not turned up, I would have suspected the cleaning staff. How easy it would have been for someone to come upon it wrapped inside a napkin and then slip it into a pocket.
But with the opal returned, the field of suspects had thinned. The maids and wait staff did not sleep in. True, they were here early to cook and lay tables for breakfast, but a detour to the Rose Room when people were bustling about would have drawn too much attention. The most likely possibility was that someone returned the gem during the night or very early morning, before anyone was up. Mrs. Davis could have done it easily. I would have to consider that.
My instincts, however, were pointing me to Spencer Rayburn. He had been fully dressed and prowling the ground floor in the wee hours, with not much of an excuse for his presence. Perhaps he was not as affluent as he seemed. Those big-game hunts were expensive endeavors. What sort of bounty had he collected after killing the Tiger of Champawat? Enough to defray the costs? The hunter would bear watching.
At least the opal was safe. Miss Joubert wasn't likely to be careless with it in the near future. I could turn my attention to the mysterious noises I'd heard last night.
I went back to my room to retrieve my sturdy walking shoes. A note from Cassie was propped against the mirror. Joining the boating party. Back before tea-time.
I smiled to myself, happy that Cassie was being included in the guest activities.
I nearly collided with Lucas on my way out the front door, the dog by his side.
"Sorry, miss." The child tugged respectfully at his cap brim. The beagle came over and put his front paws on my skirts. Lucas pulled him off. "Down, boy."
I hesitated. Inquisitive boys knew all of the tucked-away places. "Tell me, does the root cellar extend very far beneath the inn?"
He shook his head. "It's jes' for vegetables, miss. It doesn't even go much under the kitchen."
"Is there a basement of any kind beneath the inn?"
The boy bit his lip. "You wouldn' want to be going in there. It's dark and damp. Kinda smells bad, too."
I took a breath to slow my quickening pulse. So, there was something. "I see. What is it used for?"
"Nothing that I can tell. I think somebody's used it, a'fore Mr. Meyer owned the place." He shrugged. "There's only old crates and such now."
"I thought I heard someone down there last night."
The boy nodded solemnly. "Ghosts," he whispered.
I fished a coin from my pocket and held it up. "I am interested in ghosts. That is why I'm here."
His eyes grew wide. "Papa told me. It seems a mighty peculiar thing to be interested in, beggin' your pardon, miss."
I put the coin in his hand. "I would much appreciate it if you showed me how to get to the cellar."
He looked me over thoughtfully. "You'd get awful mucky in that dress."
"I'll take that chance. I'm ready if you are."
I had expected some sort of hidden door alongside the building, so I was quite surprised when Lucas led me past the rose garden, along a steep, descending path that ended at the lake. As we walked, he tossed a stick to the dog, who ran back with it to do it again, over and over.
"He's tireless," I laughed, as the dog nudged him to throw it again. "What's his name?"
"Jack."
"Well, Jack, it's a pleasure to meet you." The beagle gave a little yip.
Just before we reached the lake, the boy veered off the path toward a pile of boulders that overlooked the shore. Vegetation cascaded from the crevices. I huffed along behind.
He clambered easily over the lower boulders, pushed aside a curtain of vines, then reached a hand down to me. "In here."
Wary of bats and spiders, I hesitated at the opening. I craned my neck around the boulders, to look up the path we had just come. We must be about five hundred yards from the building. "This leads to the cellar beneath the inn?"
He nodded. "But Mr. Meyer didn't build it. It's old. I found it last year."
"Is this the only way to get in?'
"Well, it's the only way I know."
He reached into a niche, pulling out a lantern and matches.
"You are a resourceful young man," I said, ducking my head and following behind.