“What makes you think the old lady is hassling Irma? We haven’t seen her do anything particularly vicious.”

“You don’t call that performance last night vicious? The girl is scared to death about something. She works like a drudge, of course, while the old bat sits in her tower drinking tea; but it’s more than that.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s hard to put into words, but there is something between the two of them…. I hate to think of handing the shrine over to an old witch like that.”

An unwary step took me off the path, such as it was. I stopped, and unwound barbed-wire brambles from my ankle.

“So you’re going to hand the shrine over, are you?” I said. “Aside from comments on overconfidence, which I have already made, may I compliment you on your ethics? I assumed you were going to tuck the treasure under your arm and steal away.”

“You’re getting me confused with Nolan. I think he plans just that. I admit, when I started on this deal I hadn’t thought the problem through. I was excited about the hunt itself. Back in Ohio the whole thing was sort of unreal, you know what I mean? I never really thought we’d succeed. It’s different now…. But I’m sure of one thing. The shrine doesn’t belong to us. All we can do is turn it over to the rightful owner. I never had any intention of doing anything else. And don’t try to kid me; you never did, either.”

“No, but I’ve been thinking.” I unwound the last bramble and stepped back onto the path. “The shrine wouldn’t be considered treasure trove, would it? That is strictly defined legally; depending on local laws, it belongs either to the state or to the state and the finder, half and half. But the shrine belongs to the Drachensteins; that can be proved by means of the documents we’ve been using. And—listen. The old lady is only a Drachenstein by marriage. If Irma is the count’s brother’s child, wouldn’t she be the heiress?”

“Good point,” said Tony, brightening visibly. “We might try to find out about the late count’s will. Not that it has any bearing on our search….”

“But it would add to your zeal to think that Irma would enjoy the fruits of your brilliance?”

We had reached the keep and stood beside the high walls. Tony ignored my last remark and its tone of heavy sarcasm.

“Behold the Wachtturm,” he said, gesturing. “It was built in A.D. eight hundred seven by Count Meninguad von und zu Drachenstein, fondly known to his contemporaries as the Black Devil of the Tauber Valley. The keep was abandoned in thirteen hundred eighty-three when the present castle was built. In fifteen hundred five—”

“All right, all right. I’ve read the guidebook too. Let’s go in.”