about the ruin?” Sergeant Watkins looked amused.
Evan grinned too. “Yes, they’ve got crazy ideas about changing the village’s name and God knows what else.”
“You’ll be there?”
“I’ll have to. Things might get pretty lively.”
“Good. Who knows, something might come out of it—some kind of motive, maybe.”
“Like what?”
“I’ve no idea at the moment. But see who shows special interest in this ruin.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Evan said. “If someone hadn’t wanted the colonel to find the ruin, it was pretty senseless to kill him after he’d told the whole world about it. And anyway, why would someone want the ruin not to be found? It’s only a few old rocks.”
Sergeant Watkins patted Evan on the back. “That’s for you to find out, Sherlock.”
Chapter 9
The village hall was a rickety wooden building with a corrugated iron roof. It stood behind Chapel Bethel and was the only structure in the village that looked temporary, although it had actually been in place since 1941. It was packed to capacity by the time Evan arrived on Monday evening. All the chairs were occupied and people lined the walls. Evan squeezed in close to the door.
“They certainly don’t get this kind of turnout on election day,” he commented to Mrs. Williams, who had come with him. “I’d no idea there were this many people in the village. I’ve never even seen some of them before.”
“There’s a lot of strangers here,” Mrs. Williams said, after scrutinizing the crowd. “I shouldn’t be surprised if there aren’t reporters here and we’ll make the front page in the newspaper again tomorrow. Maybe we’ll even be on the telly.” She pushed her way forward and perched half of her large seat on a chair in the front row already occupied by Mary Hopkins.
The reverend Parry Davies climbed onto a small raised platform at one end of the hall. An expectant hush fell over the packed room.
“Welcome every one of you,” he said in the booming voice that had won him first place in several eisteddfods. “’Deed to goodness, this is a historic moment in the long history of Llanfair. As you all know by now, this meeting has been called to discuss the momentous discovery made by Colonel Arbuthnot on Friday last. But before we start, I’d like us to stand in a moment of silent prayer in memory of the colonel, who died tragically so soon after his moment of triumph.”
Chairs scraped as over a hundred people rose to their feet. Evan’s gaze swept the room as they stood, heads bowed. But he noticed no signs of guilty behavior, no one shifting uncomfortably or glancing around nervously. If the murderer was here, then he was cool and confident enough not to give himself away. Evan shook his head. What a ridiculous idea—to think that someone from this village, people he had known for over a year now, might be involved in a murder.
Chairs scraped again as the minute of silence ended and an undercurrent of excited conversation went around the room until Mr. Parry Davies raised his hand and spoke again. “As you have undoubtedly all heard, the colonel found what he thought might be King Arthur’s fort, up above the village. Several members of the village, including myself, went to examine his discovery. On observing the shape and size of the ruin, I determined that this was too small to be anything but a chapel. This had to be what we have all believed to exist, but never been able to find—the true resting place of Saint Celert. The real, the true Beddgelert! Not some trumped up legend of a dog’s grave but the final resting place of a saint!”
There was mumbling from the audience, but Mr. Parry Davies raised his hand again and went on loudly. “I have been in touch with the archaeology department at Bangor University, and they have assured me that they will be sending out experts to verify our find at the earliest possible opportunity. If they confirm what we suspect, and I have every hope
Evan grinned too. “Yes, they’ve got crazy ideas about changing the village’s name and God knows what else.”
“You’ll be there?”
“I’ll have to. Things might get pretty lively.”
“Good. Who knows, something might come out of it—some kind of motive, maybe.”
“Like what?”
“I’ve no idea at the moment. But see who shows special interest in this ruin.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Evan said. “If someone hadn’t wanted the colonel to find the ruin, it was pretty senseless to kill him after he’d told the whole world about it. And anyway, why would someone want the ruin not to be found? It’s only a few old rocks.”
Sergeant Watkins patted Evan on the back. “That’s for you to find out, Sherlock.”
Chapter 9
The village hall was a rickety wooden building with a corrugated iron roof. It stood behind Chapel Bethel and was the only structure in the village that looked temporary, although it had actually been in place since 1941. It was packed to capacity by the time Evan arrived on Monday evening. All the chairs were occupied and people lined the walls. Evan squeezed in close to the door.
“They certainly don’t get this kind of turnout on election day,” he commented to Mrs. Williams, who had come with him. “I’d no idea there were this many people in the village. I’ve never even seen some of them before.”
“There’s a lot of strangers here,” Mrs. Williams said, after scrutinizing the crowd. “I shouldn’t be surprised if there aren’t reporters here and we’ll make the front page in the newspaper again tomorrow. Maybe we’ll even be on the telly.” She pushed her way forward and perched half of her large seat on a chair in the front row already occupied by Mary Hopkins.
The reverend Parry Davies climbed onto a small raised platform at one end of the hall. An expectant hush fell over the packed room.
“Welcome every one of you,” he said in the booming voice that had won him first place in several eisteddfods. “’Deed to goodness, this is a historic moment in the long history of Llanfair. As you all know by now, this meeting has been called to discuss the momentous discovery made by Colonel Arbuthnot on Friday last. But before we start, I’d like us to stand in a moment of silent prayer in memory of the colonel, who died tragically so soon after his moment of triumph.”
Chairs scraped as over a hundred people rose to their feet. Evan’s gaze swept the room as they stood, heads bowed. But he noticed no signs of guilty behavior, no one shifting uncomfortably or glancing around nervously. If the murderer was here, then he was cool and confident enough not to give himself away. Evan shook his head. What a ridiculous idea—to think that someone from this village, people he had known for over a year now, might be involved in a murder.
Chairs scraped again as the minute of silence ended and an undercurrent of excited conversation went around the room until Mr. Parry Davies raised his hand and spoke again. “As you have undoubtedly all heard, the colonel found what he thought might be King Arthur’s fort, up above the village. Several members of the village, including myself, went to examine his discovery. On observing the shape and size of the ruin, I determined that this was too small to be anything but a chapel. This had to be what we have all believed to exist, but never been able to find—the true resting place of Saint Celert. The real, the true Beddgelert! Not some trumped up legend of a dog’s grave but the final resting place of a saint!”
There was mumbling from the audience, but Mr. Parry Davies raised his hand again and went on loudly. “I have been in touch with the archaeology department at Bangor University, and they have assured me that they will be sending out experts to verify our find at the earliest possible opportunity. If they confirm what we suspect, and I have every hope
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