Side by side, young Jack and I carefully excavated the dirt that covered what seemed to be a box. It hadn't been in the ground long enough to be affected by the dirt. The top, at least, was smooth and finished.

"I wonder what's inside," Jack said, digging his fingers along the edge to get underneath. His tone was filled with disappointment. "It's not very big."

"No, it's not. It looks like a case for dueling pistols," I said, noting the dimensions of the small box.

Jack's movements slowed. "So it might not be treasure?"

"We won't know until we open it," I said, even though I knew it was next to impossible that there was any treasure inside. I wanted to know who had buried this box in this rotten barn. Obviously, they wanted to hide it, but why?

When we pulled the box from the hole, it didn't weigh much. There was a tiny keyhole on the front, but there was no key in the hole with it. The person who had hidden the box must have kept the key with them. Had they intended to come back for the box?

"How do we get it open?" Jack asked, scrambling around to get a better look. His brown eyes were wide with excitement. "Should we smash it?"

"No," I said quickly. "I'll take it with me and see if I can find out something about it."

"So it's not the treasure I was supposed to find?" Now the boy was sagging with disappointment.

"I don't think so, but it was a good find," I told him. Reaching over, I patted his arm. "And the next time you see Mr. Walton, tell him I said he was to give you a halfpenny. How about that?"

Immediately, the boy's face brightened. "Do you mean it?"

"I mean it. Now you run back home, and remember to be careful if you're going to be poking around places like this. It would break your mother's heart and land you in trouble if something were to happen to you."

"Aw, nothing's going to happen," he said with the usual confidence of youth.

"I still want your word as a gentleman." How well I remembered that line working on me when I was his age. I had always wanted to be seen as a gentleman, and in my mind, a true gentleman always kept his word.

As expected, Jack stuck his hand out. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "I give you my word. I'll be careful."

"Good lad," I said, shaking his hand firmly. "Off you go, then."

The boy's face lit up with a wide smile as he sprinted out of the barn. But after a brief moment, he returned. "I can't leave yet! I haven't finished searching this place," he declared. "I need to be thorough so I don't miss anything."

~*~

Leaving the boy to his self appointed task and hoping he would keep his word about being careful, I carried the pistol case to Phaeton. It was a bit unwieldy as I climbed onto the horse. I might not know anything about it but there was someone who might.

Sir George did not express any surprise that I was visiting again so soon, but he did raise an eyebrow when he saw what I carried. "Never say you've discovered your treasure this soon!"

"I don't think I have, but I was concerned," I admitted, setting the box on his desk. This time, he'd had me brought to his office. "It was found on my property, but I believe it was buried recently."

The magistrate considered my words carefully as I explained what Jack had told me. "I'm familiar with that barn. A decade ago it might have been saved, but it is beyond help now. It would make an excellent place to hide something."

"As you can see, I haven't opened it yet," I said, gesturing to the box. "I thought it best to bring it directly to you."

"Well, let's see what is hidden inside," Sir George said, picking it up. He carefully examined its exterior. "It seems a shame to ruin such a fine specimen. It might not be the most ornate, but it was well made and has been looked after fairly well. But, what else can we do?"

Before I could react, he hurled the box onto the ground with such force that I was taken aback. "Sir George!" I exclaimed in shock as the wood splintered and the box fell into pieces. "You'll damage your own floor!"

"I'm certain it has endured far worse," he responded with a chuckle. He bent down. "Well, well, well. What have we here?"

"George!" A woman's voice called out. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with, my dear," Sir George called out without looking up. He picked up the top of the pistol box. "I'm helping a neighbor with a problem. All is well."

"Well? It sounds like you are throwing things in there!" The woman's voice was much clearer for this accusation. It sounded as though she were right outside the door.

"I did throw something, my dear, but I do not plan to do anymore."

"See that you don't!" Muffled footsteps signaled that his wife was walking away from the office door.

Sir George's attention stayed fixated on the remaining pieces of the box, seemingly unfazed by his wife's comments. The box had been lined with red velvet, making a fitting surface for what had been concealed inside. "What a beauty that is!" Sir George exclaimed.

I knelt carefully, avoiding the sharp edges of broken wood, and took a closer look at the dueling pistol. It was, as Sir George has said, a beauty. No sane person would just bury a pistol like this.

It was also telling that there was only one. There was definitely room for a second to make a complete set, but it was not in the box. Why was that? Where was the second pistol?

"Have you seen it before?" I asked, looking up at the magistrate.

"No. I'd remember seeing a pistol like that," Sir George said, his voice tinged with interest. "It must have cost a pretty penny."

Carefully, I lifted the pistol from the ground and then straightened up. "This is definitely not something I would have expected to discover buried in a crumbling barn," I commented.

"Unless..." Sir George's voice trailed away as he stared at it. "Unless there was a very good reason to hide it."

"Like what?"

"I imagine it was used in a crime of some sort." He reached over and took the pistol from my hand. "Or, perhaps the twin to this one was involved in the crime and the owner hid this one so that he wouldn't be implicated."

"Has there been a crime involving a shooting?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. I'd been occupied with my estate, so I hadn't heard anything about the happenings in the neighborhood. "Or perhaps a duel?"

The older man shook his head, but his concerned expression didn't lessen. "I haven't heard of either of those things occurring, but that doesn't mean there hasn't been one," he pointed out. "Leave this with me and I will ask some questions."

"You have quite a few questions to ask this week," I said in a futile attempt at levity.

"The nature of the position, I'm afraid," Sir George responded with a quick smile. "Keep an eye out for trouble, Mr. Bywood. If the man who buried this discovers it missing, he may be unhappy about it."

"Well, that would be inconvenient. I've already had one intruder breaking windows as it is." It would be impossible to know if any further trespassing was someone looking for treasure or someone looking for their pistol.

Sir George's eyes narrowed. "Breaking windows now?"

Suppressing a sigh, I recounted the events of the previous evening. "How interesting that it happened after you decided to make a search yourself," the magistrate commented. "Is it mere happenstance or is there a correlation?"

"At this point I don't want to make any assumptions," I answered. "It's bad enough that my sister wants to tear the shelves down. I've worked hard to repair Pearsend. I certainly don't need any more damage to repair."

My tone was verging on complaint. Sympathetically, Sir George patted my arm. "Not to worry. We'll get this sorted out," he said. "I'll send over one of my grooms this afternoon to give you a hand with protecting your property."

"I appreciate it."

"Timmons has assisted with some of my previous investigations, so he is completely reliable. The best man you could have with you during a crisis." Sir George waved a hand at the floor. "Don't worry about the mess. My staff are used to odd tasks around here."

That I could well believe

~*~

My head was pounding even harder by the time I reached my home. Lack of sleep and visits do not go well together. So of course, my sister rushed towards me with a shriek.

"Where have you been?" she demanded. "Your steward has been waiting for you."

A wave of anxiety washed over me. "Mr. Walton knows that I am in and out of the house," I said, keeping my voice down. "He's always left me a note before. Did he do so this time?"

Stamping her foot, Philippa put her hands on her hips. "This is important Lucas! Something happened last night."

"Yes. A window was broken. You saw that yourself."

"No, not that," Philippa said, her tone exasperated. "Someone tried to get into the stables."

Pausing in the middle of the hall, I pulled off my gloves. "That's strange. When did this happen?"

"Weren't you listening? Last night!"

"If it had happened last night, I would have been told when I was in the stables this morning," I pointed out, my grasp on my patience becoming thin. "My staff know not to keep secrets from me, Philippa, especially when it comes to Phaeton."

She threw her hands up. "Well, it must have happened today then! You must go speak to him!"

"Please lower your voice, Philippa," I begged. "I have already had a long day and it is only half gone. My head is aching and your shouting is only making it worse."

My sister narrowed her eyes. "And why would your head be aching? Were you drinking last night?"

"There is more than one reason for a person to have a headache, and you would do well not to assume the worst in people," I told her sharply. "I have a headache because I did not sleep well. Are you happy now?"

"I don't know if I believe you," Philippa said, crossing her arms. "You just don't want to go to dinner tonight. Well, I won't accept any excuses!"

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that there was no excuse and she didn't have to worry about my attendance. However, knowing that it would only lead to an argument I didn't want to take part in, I kept it to myself. There was time enough for her to know what I'd done.

"Did Mr. Walton say where he was going?" I asked her. "I will go find him."

"Find him? I insisted he remain until you came home," she answered. "He is in the library."

With a loud groan, I reluctantly headed in that direction. Before I had gone more than a few steps, though, I stopped and turned around. "I do appreciate that you think you are helping, Philly, but I am getting tired of reminding you that you are a guest here. It is not your place to insist on anything. Is that understood?"

Her outraged gasp followed me into the library. Mr. Walton sprang up from his seat with a guilty expression on his face. "I wasn't listening," he said swiftly. "Miss Bywood insisted I stay here and wait for you."

I waved him back into his chair. "I don't blame you for hearing. All of my sisters can be quite vocal when they want to be and Philippa is especially excitable of late. What's this about someone trying to get into the stables? This morning?"

Mr. Walton nodded and sat uneasily on the edge of the chair. His expression turned serious as he spoke. "It was about an hour, maybe two, after you left," he said, his expression becoming earnest. "I was speaking Billy and we both saw someone creeping up to the stable."

"How close to the stables did this person get?"

"He was just a few yards away," Mr. Walton said, gesturing to the east. "But as soon as he spotted us, he ran away."

"Did you recognize him? Would you be able to identify him again?"

To my disappointment, Mr. Walton shook his head. "He had a hat pulled down over his face. He wore a long, brown riding coat, but other than that? There was nothing noteworthy about him. I doubt I'd know him again if I saw him."

As I let out a sigh, I collapsed into the chair behind my desk. It creaked under me as it usually did, warning me that it didn't like the rough treatment. However, it held up. For the moment.

"Billy and I tried to follow him, but the man had a horse waiting for him on the road," Mr. Walton continued. "A brown mare. Again, not one that I will be able to pick out of a group of horses."

"Right. Well, a groom by the name of Timmons will be coming from Sir George Harrow's household some time today. Let him know about this and work out a schedule of keeping watch on things."

Mr. Walton straightened up, his expression surprised. "The magistrate is involved? Why?"

As succinctly as possible, I explained what Jack Little had found and my visit to the magistrate's home. My young steward shook his head. "So it may have been a man looking to get his pistol back?" he asked.

"It seems likely." However, the situation had become such a tangled mess that nothing was clear.

Shaking his head, Mr. Walton stood up. "I'll warn the Littles so they know someone might come poking around."

Right. I should have thought of that. I thanked him and then he left. Letting out a groan, I put my head on the desk. Would I be able to get through the day without something else going wrong?