“That’s right,” Cy said. “I promised these people a tour of the house. Then these young British aristocrats can tell me if it’s better than their stately homes. It damned well better be, the money I’ve spent on it.” He clapped his hands. “Come on, then. Follow me. House tour coming up.”

He led us up the long flight of marble steps and opened a massive studded oak front door. We stepped into the cool darkness of an entrance hall two stories high. Weapons decorated the walls and the vaulted ceiling was hung with ancient banners. The whole effect reminded me sharply of Castle Rannoch.

“Follow me,” Cy said. Our footsteps echoed from the high ceiling as we crossed that foyer. On either side there were alcoves, decorated with classical statues that really didn’t go with the weapons hanging above them. Then Cy pushed open a door and we entered a sitting room, rather like the one I had left at Kingsdowne Place, with a great marble fireplace at its center.

“Recognize this?” Cy said with a triumphant grin. “It came from one of your British houses. Lord something or other. You should have seen the job they had getting it up the hill. Took a team of oxen to pull it.”

One magnificent room after another followed. There were paintings on oak-paneled walls, statues in corners, suits of armor, archways, beamed ceilings. . . . And the interesting thing was that none of it really belonged together, almost like items laid out ready for an auction. It was as Mummy had said, a Gothic fantasy. Cy was beaming like a proud child. “Designed the whole thing myself,” he said. “Not bad for a boy who came to the States with nothing. Who was glad to get a job selling newspapers.”

“Cyrus,” Mrs. Goldman said in her strident voice. “So what about those other things that you told me you’d found in Spain? Didn’t I hear you’d bought candlesticks? And an El Greco?”

“So you’re suddenly interested in antiques? Or did you hear how much they’re worth?” He looked back at her, almost gloating in his expression. “I got them for a steal, if you’re worried about how much I paid—this convent had no idea what they were. That El Greco was hanging behind a side altar in their chapel. Their roof was leaking and their plumbing wasn’t working and they were happy to get those things fixed. But you wait until you see them, Helen. Exquisite.”

He quickened his pace, led us into a narrow side hall. I gasped as I saw a figure looming over me with an ax raised. Then I realized it was only another suit of armor. “Watch out for that guy,” Cy called jovially. “He’s my guard. He dispatches people I don’t like.” He went ahead and opened a door at the end. “My prize possession,” he said. “My library.”