The Inheritance by Simon Tolkien Page A

twelve years later,” said Ritter. “No one got away. I’m sure of it. You found everyone you expected to. You told me that yourself.”
    “I didn’t know about the old woman.”
    “Fine. And she burnt up like a stick of old firewood.”
    Ritter laughed harshly, but Cade didn’t join in.
    “That was Carson too,” he said, sounding even more agitated than before. “He caused that fire. He didn’t need to shoot back like that. He must have seen the lamp in the window. He knew the risk. Maybe what I really wanted was in that house. It hurts not knowing whether it was there or not. It’d be easier to know it was destroyed than not to know one way or the other. Part of me wishes there
had
been a survivor.”
    “Well, there wasn’t. Just you and me and Carson.”
    “I don’t know how he even made corporal,” said Cade quickly. “I should have killed him when he came here before.”
    “You couldn’t. Not with the boy watching.”
    “No. Maybe not. But I didn’t realise then how persistent he would be,” said Cade. “The best thing would have been not to have got the bastard involved in the first place.”
    “There’s no point in going over all that again, John. You thought we needed him at the time, and I agreed with you. We didn’t know how many Germans there would be, and we had to have a lookout. For afterward.”
    “Afterward,” repeated Cade bitterly. “That’s when I talked about the book. And the cross. Babbling about them like some idiot schoolboy. Making out as if they were the most valuable things in the world. I wouldn’t have said anything if it hadn’t been for the fire.”
    “How valuable
is
the book?” Ritter’s voice was suddenly much softer than Cade’s. It made Stephen shiver.
    “It’s worth money. But no more than some of the other manuscripts here. And that’s not why I wanted it. I needed it because of where I thought it would lead me. But it hasn’t. All it’s done is get me a bullet in the lung and this bastard Carson stalking me. I don’t think he even wants the codex. It’s double Dutch to him, and he couldn’t fence it even if he wanted to. He just wants to hurt me, because he’s got it in his head that I’m the reason he’s poor and unsuccessful. And shabby. God, you should have seen him when he came here the second time, Reg. He looked like a tramp.”
    “I wish I had,” said Ritter. There was no mistaking his meaning.
    There was silence for a moment before Cade spoke again, and then the fretful note was back in his voice.
    “You’re sure it’s him, Reg. Nobody else?”
    “I know it’s him. There were no witnesses and no survivors. Nobody except him. Look, give me that again.” There was a sound of paper rustling. Ritter was obviously reading the blackmail letter. “Here. Paddington Station’s where you’re supposed to meet him. And he lives just round the corner from there. Or at least he used to. In some dive up above a paper shop. I visited him there once. And seventeen’s probably his lucky number.”
    “Was his lucky number.” Cade laughed. “What are you going to do to him, Reg?”
    The sadistic curiosity in his father’s voice was too much for Stephen. Swallowing the bile that had suddenly come up into his throat, he took an involuntary step back from the window. Several twigs had blown down with the leaves from the nearby grove of elm trees earlier in the day, and one broke now with a snap under Stephen’s foot. Inside the room Ritter reacted instantly, pushing back his chair and crossing to the window. But Silas was quicker, pulling his brother down and round the corner of the house into the darkness.
    Less than six feet away from where they were standing, the brothers could sense Ritter at the window peering out into the night.
    “What is it?” asked Cade from inside the room.
    “Nothing. Some animal,” said Ritter. “Nobody’s going to get into these grounds anymore. We’d hear the alarm if anyone tried.”
    “I hope