By the next morning Harleigh had decided on the questions he needed to ask Uncle Edgar, as well as how he might go about asking them without giving away too much about what he was really trying to find out. The first question would be about sonar, or perhaps radar—just to make it sound as if he were looking for general information about machines that searched for things, and perhaps made a noise while they were doing it. But then he would get around to metal detectors and maybe find out what they looked like, and what kind of searches they were usually used for. And—this was especially important—if they made a noise while they were doing it.
Sure enough, Uncle Edgar had lots of useful information. He even drew a picture of a long pole with some handles at one end and a large circular scanner at the other. And when Harleigh asked the important question, about what they sounded like, he said, “Well, I believe some of the newer ones have a small console on which symbols indicate whether anything made of metal has been located. But some of them still have audible indicators.”
“What kind of indicators?” Harleigh asked.
Uncle Edgar smiled. “Audible. Something that you hear.”
Something that you hear! That was it—exactly what Harleigh had been looking for. Or maybe what he hadn’t been looking for, if he wanted to go on believing that Allegra had been lying when she said she’d heard a metal detector on the recital hall’s stage.
Harleigh had a hard time keeping his mind on the rest of what Uncle Edgar wanted him to learn that morning, such as the relationship between diameters and circumferences and the dates of several ancient civilizations.
Finally Uncle Edgar said, “Well, it seems our recently improved attention span is taking the day off.” His big, floppy grin spread across his face. “What’s on your mind, boy?”
In the past, when Uncle Edgar said something of that sort, Harleigh might have let him have it with a quick comeback about how some teachers made their lessons interesting, while some others just didn’t have the knack. But today it somehow didn’t seem worth the effort.
So all he said was that he had been working on a different sort of problem—a personal one. And when Uncle Edgar said he’d be glad to help if it were possible, Harleigh surprised himself by saying, “Yeah, well, I wish it was.” The surprising part was—it was true.
It was almost noon before Uncle Edgar gave up on Harleigh, and even then he might not have, except that he was anxious to get to the special feast that Matilda was preparing.
“Special feast?” Harleigh asked. “What is she doing that for?”
Uncle Edgar stared at him. “He didn’t tell you?” he said. “No one told you?” Uncle Edgar seemed very surprised.
“Your father didn’t tell you?” he went on asking, and when Harleigh said no, Uncle Edgar shook his head and made the harrumphing noise that usually meant he was displeased about something. “You didn’t know that your father was leaving for Australia today?”
“Today?” Harleigh was surprised. “But he just got here yesterday.”
Uncle Edgar harrumphed again and sighed before he said, “That’s true, but, it seems there’s some remarkable new building going up down that way that he feels he needs to look over and write an article about. So actually the visit here was only a stopover on his way. So now he’s off to Down Under, and it seems our Matilda is preparing a feast in honor of his brief visit. So come on, boy. Let’s give our heads a rest and go fill our stomachs.”
Uncle Edgar was right, as usual. Not only about Matilda preparing a special meal with ham and sweet potatoes, which was Harleigh the Third’s favorite menu, but also about the fact that Harleigh J. Weatherby the Third was about to leave again. But something else that soon became obvious was that Uncle Edgar was in a bad mood, glowering and grumping, in between mouthfuls of ham, at everything and everybody, especially at Harleigh the Third. Saying sarcastic things like how he supposed the rest of the family ought to feel fortunate to have another generous visit from Aunt Adelaide’s heir apparent. “Aren’t we fortunate,” he said, “to have him with us for two whole days, and only six months from his last royal appearance?”
After a while Harleigh Four’s father said, “Well, Edgar, I must say, you don’t seem to be in a very pleasant frame of mind.”
Then Uncle Edgar held his hand up in front of his mouth and lowered his voice. But not so much that it kept Harleigh Four from figuring out that what Uncle Edgar was upset about was that no one had told “the boy” his father was about to leave.
The two of them went on whispering for a while, with Harleigh the Third making excuses that Harleigh Four didn’t bother to try to overhear. He was used to that sort of thing. And besides, he had more important problems to worry about.
When the meal was over, Harleigh Four’s father did his usual hand-on-the-shoulder thing and said, “Good-bye, son,” and that was the end of it. But at least there was nothing at all said about whether or not his son had been snooping around in Aunt Adelaide’s room. So that was all right. Harleigh Four wasn’t going to waste any time wondering whether his father hadn’t been told about Josephine’s suspicions or if he had heard and just didn’t care. Harleigh Four had other things on his mind, such as how he was going to go about finding out whether Junior Weatherby owned a metal detector.
That same day, an hour or so after the taxi arrived to take his father to the airport, Harleigh Four’s investigation to discover the truth about Cousin Junior and the metal detector was once more underway. Not moving very rapidly, perhaps, but definitely underway.
One reason he was making such slow progress was simply because there really was quite a long distance to cover. Harleigh had been to where Junior lived in the south ell of the west wing a couple of times before, but not recently, and he wasn’t too sure of the exact location. The other reason he wasn’t moving very quickly was that he was finding it necessary to stop now and then to think and plan ahead. To make plans such as—what exactly he was going to do once he arrived at his destination.
It wasn’t likely, he had decided, that Junior would be at home in the early afternoon of a weekday in summer. Which was actually what he was counting on. But on the other hand, it was equally unlikely that the doors to his rooms would be unlocked or that his metal detector—if he had one—would be right out in plain view of anyone who happened to pass by.
So what was Harleigh Four planning to do? Good question. Perhaps, if he was lucky, someone else would happen along—one of the other southern ell residents. Besides Sad Sheila there were, for instance, several more or less retired people who lived in the general area. There was A. J., the would-be lawyer; an old married couple called the Farleys; plus the Galworthy Girls, a pair of slightly identical twin sisters. All of whom were Weatherby descendants, of course, but only third or fourth cousins several times removed. But any one of them might have noticed Junior coming or going in possession of a long, strange-looking mechanism with a metal loop at the end.
That was beginning to sound like a plan. He would look for the twins or the Farleys or some other relatively nearby relative who would surely have noticed Junior’s metal detector if he had one. Somewhat comforted by having come up with a plan of action, Harleigh began to walk a little faster, but not so fast that he didn’t take careful note of his surroundings.
The second ell off the west hall, which must once have been the living quarters of servants, or else rooms for very unimportant guests, was quite different from the grand corridors in the central building. Harleigh had forgotten how narrow the halls became as you turned into the ell, and also how little light came in through the widely spaced windows. He’d also forgotten, if he’d ever noticed it before, the strangely depressing smell.
The smell was—different. Not exactly dirty. Closer to heavy, perhaps, as if the air was dusty with memories of so many long, empty years. Stopping to sniff uneasily, Harleigh couldn’t help remembering how Allegra had carried on about feeling, even hearing, the stories of early Weatherbys. He also remembered how ridiculous he’d thought the whole idea was, and how he’d certainly told her so. But now, breathing in the strangely time-heavy air, he wasn’t so sure.
Shaking his head, Harleigh squared his shoulders and marched on down the long, dim hall, passing many doors that led into long-forgotten rooms, where who knows how many people had spent their unimportant lives. He was still deep in thought when another turn, and a short flight of stairs, brought him to where he began to be aware that he was once more where people were still actually living. Where the light was a little brighter and there were sounds of sorts, water running, and the faint shuffle of footsteps. He had paused to listen more carefully when, only a few feet away, a door slammed open and someone came out into the dim light of the hallway. A huge, bushy-haired person with a long hooked nose and narrow, twitchy eyes: Junior Weatherby himself.