“Of course. Longer yet. Long enough for someone to have in some way affected some scheme regarding that cargo.”
He shook his head. “Not possible.” He shook it again, vigorously. His hand rubbed his knee.
Gareth waited. Ogden squirmed.
“Well, there was that one night...” he muttered. “I did not leave my post, mind you. One of the others went to a tavern for some ale and returned with a nice little keg, and I enjoyed my cups, as it were. I crawled under my wagon to sleep it off. Dead to the world, I was. We all were, I suppose, until well after dawn.”
And there it was, the broken link in the chain of secrecy, subterfuge, and careful plans. A keg of ale had undone it all, and now there was no way to know if the crates that arrived in Derbyshire even had pictures in them.
One of those lords should have gone along with the wagons, or sent a trusted man with these teamsters. Probably all those days on the dusty roads plodding along with oxen did not appeal to any of the gentlemen, so they all convinced themselves it was unnecessary, providing sufficient threats were made.
This little inquiry of Ives had just become harder.
“The other teamsters, Mr. Ogden—were they friends of yours?”
“We got on well enough after a day or so, but I was the odd man out. Underhill employed all the others. I was brought in from Margate because he needed an extra man. He kept me on, so he must have liked the looks of me.”
Gareth had nothing else to ask. He rose to take his leave, and Ogden limped along back to the door.
“What was in those crates, if I may ask, sir?”
“Pictures.”
Ogden’s face fell in surprise. “You don’t say. I’ll be damned. All that trouble for a bunch of pictures.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
Ogden shook his head in astonishment. Gareth returned to his horse, not believing for a second that Ogden had been ignorant of the contents of the crates.
***
“This is a surprise,” Gareth said when he entered his library at Albany Lodge and found Ives sitting there.
“I had hoped to arrive before you went north to see that teamster, so I could join you. When I found you had already left, I decided to wait here.”
Gareth poured them both brandy, then sat and told Ives about his meeting with Ogden. Ives was not pleased to hear about that keg of ale.
“Hell.”
“Yes.”
Ives contemplated for a moment, his brow clear of furrows but his eyes hooded. “A switch cannot be ruled out, but it would be a most elaborate scheme, planned in advance by someone who knew everything. And dependent on those men getting so drunk they slept through it all. I do not like this possibility being there, but I think it is unlikely.”
“I am assuming one or more of them were part of the plan, and that keg was no accident. If Underhill employed them, they may have heard something long before they took up those reins. Not so unlikely then.”
“When you come up to town, we will ride out to Ramsgate and talk to Underhill. Now that you have opened this new front in the war, we need to see what he is made of. When will you be in town?”
“I plan to start out day after tomorrow.”
Ives gazed into his brandy. “And when will your guests arrive?”
“The next day, I expect.”
Ives looked over with a small, knowing smile. “Which one are you after? The married one? Please do not tell me it is the young innocent. Even we have our standards, and you always said girls bore you.”
“Have no fear, I do not intend to launch a scandal from Langley House.”
“So, not the young girl. Then—?”
