Cruikshank shrank back in his chair a little. “I think,” he said, his voice wobbling a little, “I must ask ye to leave.”
Nicol gave a mirthless laugh. “For once, we are in agreement, Mr. Cruikshank. I will return another day to collect the payment due to my firm. In the meantime, I will leave you to your dinner.”
And then he was striding out of the room, without so much as a backward glance, and slamming the door behind him.
Lindsay watched him leave with dismay. He’d rather counted on Drew Nicol being around for at least the rest of the meal.
The other men at the table yammered like a flock of angry birds, every one of them decrying Drew Nicol’s behaviour and vowing never to use or recommend his services to another living soul.
And through it all, Cruikshank sat there, saying nothing, his little round monkey eyes fixed on the door that Nicol had slammed behind him, his expression quite cold.
Chapter Eleven
Lindsay had to waitanother hour—through a stodgy suet pudding studded with dry currants and two glasses of cheap port wine—before Cruikshank finally caught his eye and said, “Well now, Mr. Somerville. Are ye ready to conduct our business? I am sure my other guests will excuse us. It should not take too long.”
He rose stiffly from his chair, grimacing a little as he headed for the door, Lindsay following him. The other guests ignored their departure, still swilling the nasty port wine and chattering loudly as Lindsay followed his arthritic host from the room.
When the door closed behind them, Cruikshank shuffled a few steps down the corridor, pausing to lift a candle from the narrow hall table and handing it to Lindsay. “Would ye carry this for me, Mr. Somerville? As ye can see, I’m a wee bit shaky on my feet.”
“Of course,” Lindsay said, accepting the candle. “Have we far to go?” Pray God they wouldn’t have to tackle a flight of steps—it’d take all night to get there at this rate.
“No, the strongroom where I keep my collection is just down here.”
“Strongroom?” Lindsay repeated.
“Aye,” Cruikshank said. “Though it’s no’ just a safe. I use the chamber as my study too—I like to have my things around me. When Mr. Nicol was designing the house, I told him what I wanted: a room in which I could securely store my personal collection that would also be large enough to work in.” Turning away, he began shuffling down the corridor at his painfully slow pace.
“You can’t expect me to reveal all my clients’ secrets.”
“You weren’t able to keep your collection secure before?”
“No,” Cruikshank replied without looking round. The nut-brown wig had listed a little to one side, covering the top of his left ear, though Cruikshank didn’t seem to notice. It made him look comical, like a performing monkey with his too-big, antique coat. “My bankers kept most of it for me, till now.”
A little further down the corridor, Cruikshank stopped and began fishing around at his waist, till finally he pulled out a heavy key ring with half a dozen or so keys of different shapes and weights. As he fingered through the keys, Lindsay realised that the stout and studded door they had stopped in front of had not one, but three locks. Cruikshank tackled them patiently, one by one. Judging by the effort he had to put in to turning them, the locks were stiff and new.
When all three locks had finally been opened, Cruikshank glanced at Lindsay. “I’ll be interested to hear what ye think,” he said, then he pushed open the heavy door and gestured for Lindsay to precede him.
