Sheridan shook his head. “Couldn’t have, here—there was nothing to spend it on. I mean, the islands are lovely. Quite the holiday spot now. But not then. Just rocks, basically. Barely enough to support anyone. Before the Dorrien-Smiths brought the flower trade here, I mean.”

Libby had to give Sheridan a bit of credit. He knew how to do his research.

Oliver sighed. “It’s always been a matter of local speculation. From the Scillies he went to the Caribbean, as you said, and he certainly wouldn’t have taken any of his personal treasure with him. But he never made it back to England. And his wife clearly didn’t take the plunder and use it—she petitioned the Crown for his pension after the war and lived modestly, according to what I’ve read.”

“Exactly!” Sheridan slapped a hand to the table. “Which means it’s probably still here. Somewhere. Buried.”

“Or sunken.” Bram stopped pacing and leaned down to scoop up Darling. The little traitor nuzzled his chin and meowed at him. “You’ll never find it if it’s at the bottom of the sea.”

“But it isn’t! Or probably. Not, I mean.” Sheridan gestured toward Beth. “That’s what the map could indicate.”

Bram, kitten purring happily against his shoulder, leaned against the wall beside Libby. “Get back to your original point, Sheridan. This other person you’d hired, who had been in the Caribbean?”

“Ah. Right.” The excitement on his face dimmed to something that looked oddly like worry, though she’d never seen such an expression on him before to know exactly what it looked like. “Bloke by the name of Lorne. I called him off. I mean, even I’m not going to fund something fruitless. Not for long, anyway. Told him I had a more promising lead in the Scillies.” He winced. “I didn’t mean for him to come here. But he, ah—well, he’s butted heads with the Scofields’ lads before. In the field, I mean. Quite a competitive game is archaeology, you know. It can get . . . nasty.”

Casek’s hand, which had been splayed on the tabletop, curled into a fist. “You mean to tell me this bloke came here? That he’s the one who killed Johnnie?”

Sheridan eased out a breath. “Can’t say. That is, he said the lad was killed in an accident but that it could rouse suspicion. So he was lying low. That’s all I know. Honestly. About the young man.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Casek snapped. “I saw him, saw the blow to his head. He couldn’t have got it by slipping and falling, not there. Someone’s responsible, and if it’s this Lorne bloke, I’ll see he’s brought to justice. He had to have been involved somehow.”