Appleby at Allington by Michael Innes Page A

and gone by on the previous night. But it was in some decay, and seemed not much used. The alternative entrance was a modest affair without a lodge, and merely signalised by the gate to which Travis had pointed. Judith looked at it now.
    ‘The gate has merely been lifted clear,’ she said. ‘But I agree there’s rather a mess. You say you’re surprised that Mr Allington went in for it all? I gather it made quite a lot for charity.’
    ‘I suppose that was it.’ Travis sounded unconvinced. ‘Anyway, he had me do my part of the job pretty thoroughly, as I said.’
    ‘A kind of research job?’ Appleby asked. ‘And here at Allington? I’d hardly have supposed there would be much to examine. The castle was destroyed during the Civil War, and the Allingtons seem to have disappeared–’
    ‘It wasn’t quite like that. Some of the Cavalier families, of course, lost estates, and their descendants never recovered them. The then Lord Allington – Rupert – took himself off to France, and died long before 1660. But there were others around, and one of them did a good deal in the way of collecting family records and so forth. Much later – in the mid-nineteenth century – all that was bought up by the second Mr Osborne, who had antiquarian interests and a desire to possess himself of anything connected with the place. When the last Osborne–’
    ‘Wilfred?’ Judith asked.
    ‘Yes. When he sold the Park to Owain Allington, he threw all that stuff in. The contents of what may fairly be called a respectable muniment-room. That’s what I had the run of, and it was quite interesting. Not that there was really a great deal that helped with the son et lumière . That had to be an affair, as you can guess, of pretty broad effects. I think the doddering old Wilfred–’
    ‘Mr Osborne,’ Judith said, ‘is a very old friend of mine.’
    ‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry.’ Mr Travis was not distinguishably abashed. ‘What I was going to say was that it was very decent of him to let the Allington records go with the place. It can only have been because an Allington – and in the direct line from Rupert, you know – was taking over again. Showed a nice feeling, all the same.’
    ‘What about that treasure?’ Appleby asked abruptly.
    ‘Treasure, Sir John?’
    ‘There’s a tradition, or legend, of buried treasure, and Allington tells me you made quite a thing of it in your script.’
    ‘Oh, yes – of course. People like that sort of thing. Awful rot, needless to say.’
    ‘So Allington seems to feel. Still, you didn’t actually make it up. I mean, it’s there?’
    ‘There?’ Travis stared blankly at Appleby.
    ‘In the records, I mean. You came on material about the treasure when working in this muniment-room?’
    ‘Good Lord, no!’ Travis was amused. ‘I haven’t at all traced the story to its origin. It exists in the county histories, and local antiquarian books. I wrote it in from stuff like that. I didn’t at all go after its provenance.’
    ‘You disappoint me.’ Appleby smiled amiably at Tristram Travis. ‘I’d have expected more curiosity in a rising young Oxford scholar. But one forgets, of course. You were being a good deal distracted.’
    ‘Distracted?’
    ‘A fickle swain,’ Appleby said to Judith. ‘The beautiful Mavis Junkin has passed from your young friend’s mind.’
    ‘Oh, I say! I call that jolly unfair.’ Injury and reproach positively vibrated in the voice of the ingenuous Mr Travis.
    ‘You’re a complete young humbug,’ Appleby said – cheerfully and inoffensively. ‘Now let’s go and find that drink.’

 
     
10
    Owain Allington peered cautiously out of one of the long windows of his drawing-room. There was still a good deal of activity to be seen. Those who remain grimly through the tail-end of sales in the hope of bargain prices at the last were plentifully in evidence. One or two old women, hardened characters, even carried completely empty baskets still. The Reverend Mr