Stanislav stood up and said something in Czech before going out into the yard. "You have a problem?"
"I haven't been completely honest with you." He had no alternative but to let Stanislav in on the reason for the trip.
"Of course you have not been honest with me. You are a private investigator. What has really got you here? Does the farm belong to someone else, and you have come to reclaim it?"
"It's nothing like that. There's something ... hidden here, and it doesn't belong to these people." As he said it, he wondered who really had a legal claim to Hana's treasure. It almost certainly wasn't Edward Blake. The dean at the Helios Music Academy had found out about the existence of the manuscripts almost by chance. Did that discovery give him a valid claim to ownership?
He remembered a case earlier in the year that he'd been involved in. A treasure hunter with a metal detector had found a hoard of silver coins in a farmer's field. Unfortunately he'd not sought permission nor had he informed the farmer that he was searching. The farmer was claiming the coins, and it seemed likely he would get them when it came to court. Most treasure hunters set out a fifty-fifty agreement in writing with the farmer before searching, to be sure of taking something away if they struck lucky. What sort of treasure trove laws did the Czechs have?
"You look worried, my friend."
"I am worried." There seemed to be two major contenders for ownership of the manuscripts. The most obvious one was Tomas Dusek. He owned the farm and presumably by law he owned everything on it, even things he knew nothing about. The other potential claimant was Shelley Carpenter. The manuscripts had once belonged to her grandfather's brother. But the fact that Shelley's great-grandfather had betrayed his brother might make a difference.
"Tell me what is wrong," Stanislav said.
Matt pointed to the wall of bales. "Something valuable was hidden behind there -- in 1942."
"Valuable?" Stanislav looked a little too interested for comfort. "What sort of thing?"
"Nineteenth century music manuscripts."
Stanislav spat on the ground in disgust. "Paper is valuable?"
"We won't know until we get it out. Yes, it could be valuable."
He'd said more than he wanted to, but there was no way he could shift all those bales by himself, nor could he send Stanislav home and then ask Tomas to help. The search for Vasek Tesar's music wasn't something you could convey with sign language.
Stanislav nodded his head in the direction of the farmhouse. "You want me to tell them?"
Matt breathed in deeply and sighed. "Yes, tell Tomas I've come to find something that was hidden here a long time ago. Whatever you do don't tell him it's in this barn. I want to get a written agreement that we share the value of the find when it's sold. And I don't intend to share it fifty-fifty. More like ten percent to them. Okay?"
Tomas and Lenka stood transfixed in the farmyard when Stanislav called them, listening carefully as Stanislav laid out the offer. Immediately some frantic conversation took place between the farming couple. It didn't sound promising.
"They want half," Stanislav told Matt.
"Tell them it's ten percent, or I'm going back to Prague on the next train."
Tomas shook his head angrily when he heard the ultimatum. He seemed to have guessed where to search and kept looking at the far wall of the barn. Matt had no idea how carefully Hana had concealed the loose bricks, but if wouldn't take a determined Czech farmer long to find them. In which case striking a fifty-fifty deal now would be a bargain. There wasn't time to check with Blake. Tomas was already climbing onto the bales.
"Tell Tomas it's twenty percent."
They settled on thirty. Well, he might have done Blake out of a bit of profit, but he'd also lowered what he'd get from his own ten percent share of the sale value. So Blake could hardly accuse him of giving too much away unnecessarily.
"And how much do I get?" Stanislav asked.
"We haven't even found anything yet," Matt told him with a certain amount of annoyance. "You get five percent of the total. Okay?"
Stanislav muttered something but nodded in agreement.
"Right, let's get it all down in writing before we go any further. And make sure Tomas and Lenka understand that there may be nothing here, in which case we all get nothing."
They returned to the kitchen where Lenka produced a crumpled pad of writing paper from a drawer in the large wooden table. Stanislav wrote something lengthy on one of the sheets and showed it to Matt.
Since it was written in Czech Matt had no idea if he was being seen off or not, but the right numbers were written as percentages and the names were spelled in a way that seemed more or less to tally with the pronunciation. He signed his name with the others.
He asked Stanislav to make a second copy, which the others agreed to sign, although somewhat reluctantly. Matt put this copy in his pocket, to safeguard his future. Maybe he'd be doing the final deal with Shelley Carpenter, not Blake. As the only surviving member of Hana's family, Shelley might demand everything.
Stanislav interrupted his thoughts. "Tomas says he has signed the paper and now he wants to know where the treasure is hidden."
"You can tell him that if he's after gold he's going to be disappointed."
Tomas looked more irritated than disappointed when Stanislav told him.
"Okay, Stanislav," Matt said. "Here are the facts as I know them. You can translate the story in Czech as I tell it. Let's not have any misunderstanding, so you don't add anything extra."
The farming couple listened to Stanislav's translation of Matt's account of Hana Eisler coming here in 1942 to visit her Aunt Vetka and Uncle Libek. Lenka interrupted to ask where all this fitted in with Matt's Czech grandparents. He told Stanislav to tell her not to disrupt the story.
Tomas was eyeing the bales, probably wondering just how quickly he could dismantle them. He pointed to the far wall. "And the parcel of Hana is hidden behind there?" he asked through Stanislav.
Matt nodded and Tomas muttered something that sounded ill-tempered.
"He says you should have come last week when the barn was empty," Stanislav translated. "He has only just placed the bales of hay here."
"Tell him I didn't know about it last week," Matt said. Tomas shouldn't be complaining anyway. He was being presented with thirty percent just for moving a few bales.
Tomas turned quickly and strode across the farmyard to an open shed housing a dark blue tractor, a monument to solid Communist engineering dating from the 1950s. It might be newer, given that the design had probably been unchanged for many decades. The paintwork had been recently redone by hand, and not particularly well. The battery turned the engine over at a leisurely place but it failed to fire.
A couple of minutes later, with the battery turning the engine over slower and slower with each attempt, the tractor sprang into life. The money would have been better spent on a new battery rather than blue paint, and the time would have been better spent applying a fresh coat of white paint to the farmhouse.
Tomas backed the massive tractor out of the shed and fitted a set of long-fingered tines to the front. Then, in a haze of black smoke he drove through the doorway into the brick barn, charging at the foot of the bales. The bales crashed around the tractor, covering the front. Tomas roared with laughter and backed the tractor away with two bales stuck to the spikes. In the farmyard he pulled these off and returned for another load. He looked like a medieval night on horseback, with his jousting pole piercing the opposition in a frantic charge.
Finally Tomas switched off the engine and rolled the last couple of bales away with his large hands. "Show me the treasure," he demanded.
Matt had been anticipating this moment with excitement, but now he felt panic. Supposing the spirit in the séance had been deliberately leading him astray. There might be nothing here at all.
The lower part of the back wall had been built out into the barn by the height of several bricks, making a sort of buttress. One area immediately
caught Matt's attention -- an area where a group of bricks didn't seem to be cemented into place.
Chapter Twenty-Five
TO MATT'S surprise Tomas Dusek stood well back, almost in awe. Feeling like an actor in the center of the stage, Matt bent down and tried to remove one of the bricks. But his fingers didn't fit the gap and it was impossible to grip anything.
The farmer said something which Stanislav translated. "Tomas says he has tools," the guide said. "Would you like him to fetch them?"
Matt could see scratches around four of the bricks. Maybe protection from the weather had left them looking fresh like this. "Okay. Something long and thin like a screwdriver would be best."
Tomas Dusek opened the toolbox on the side of the tractor and produced a massive screwdriver with a filthy orange handle. He held it up, seeking Matt's approval, but didn't attempt to come forward to help.
Matt took the screwdriver and tried to insert it between the bricks. "Ask him if he has something smaller."
The farmer must have already anticipated the request and stood with a more slender instrument in his hand. Lenka Dusek held a small hanky to her mouth, bobbing up and down on her thin legs in anticipation.
There seemed to be four loose bricks, two across the base and another two directly above. Matt knew that if he could get one free he could easily pull out the others. Even as he removed the first brick he could see a large brown package in the dark space behind. He tossed the remaining bricks to one side and reached in to retrieve an enormous envelope -- the sort of thing lawyers kept deeds in. At this point Tomas Dusek's patience gave way and he hurried forward, shouldering Matt to one side.
Holding the envelope with two hands the farmer laughed loudly while his wife gave a squeak of ecstasy. Then Tomas walked up to Matt, clapped him hard on the back, and handed over the envelope while speaking a torrent of Czech.
"He wants you to open it," Stanislav explained.
Matt felt a wave of relief. For a moment he'd thought it was all going wrong. He still didn't know for sure what he'd agreed to on the sheet of paper in the kitchen, but out here on his own with three Czech citizens and two barking dogs the safest thing to do was to stay on good terms with everyone.
The large, dusty envelope, the thickness of a small parcel, had the name Hana Eisler written on it in rather large untidy capital letters. Carefully, Matt pulled at the flap. It opened easily. No doubt the glue had weakened with age. Inside he could see a thick wad of folded paper. Afraid of dropping something he pushed everything back inside and told Stanislav he was going to the kitchen to sort it out on the table.
As soon as they were inside the farmhouse, Lenka picked up the phone and started speaking. Matt ignored her and opened the envelope, spreading sheet upon sheet of music paper on the large pine table. There must be over two hundred sheets of handwritten compositions.
Some had preprinted staves, and on others the lines on which the music was written were ruled by hand. There seemed to be a mix of sizes close to A3 and A4, with the staves aligned for the pages to be held vertically. He quickly thumbed through them. Most pieces were written with single staves for what was, presumably, a violin. Vasek Tesar's violin?
After talking for several minutes Lenka Dusek replaced the phone and spoke to Stanislav, who then turned to Matt.
"Lenka has just been phoning an elderly neighbor," he explained. "The neighbor remembers Vetka and Libek Sykora. And she can remember a girl called Hana staying with them in the war."
Stanislav listened again to Lenka, then spoke to Matt. "The neighbor says Hana was here until after the war."
Matt shook his head. "She wasn't. She died in 1942. She must only have been here for a few weeks."
Lenka seemed offended to have her word questioned.
Stanislav did the translation. "Lenka insists that her neighbor said Hana Eisler stayed here until 1947. She would have stayed longer, but her Uncle Libek died suddenly. His sons put their mother into an institution and took possession of the farm. Then they sold it and shared the money."
Matt pointed to the manuscript pages on the table. "And yet they had all these."
Stanislav shook his head. "Yes, my friend -- but they did not know it. Hana had hidden them too well."
"Ask Lenka what happened to the sons."
Lenka said she didn't know. She and Tomas had taken over the farm in 1977 from a local farming family. Their name was definitely not Sykora.
"Thanks." Matt nodded towards Lenka Dusek and smiled. Why on earth did he feel uneasy? Did it matter when Hana died? Anyway, Lenka's neighbor was probably old and confused about the dates if she'd been living on the next-door farm in the 1940s. These manuscripts had to be genuine.
Lenka Dusek started to look through the pages. She pulled out one, studied it, and spoke enthusiastically.
"It is music for the piano," Stanislav explained. "Lenka wants to know if you would like to hear the music."
"She can play it now?"
Stanislav passed on the query, and before he could translate the answer Lenka Dusek was out of the door and into the front room. Matt recognized the sound of a piano lid being opened. As he ducked his head to go through, the farmer's wife was already playing the first hesitant notes.
Within a few bars she got into the rhythm and suddenly the room was filled with melody. The piano must be used regularly, for it was pretty well in tune. No wonder the Duseks were interested in this music. Matt asked Lenka to start again at the beginning. Everyone listened to Vasek Tesar's music being played for the first time for ... how many years? Even if Hana or her parents had played this piece in 1942, it still hadn't been heard for over sixty years. And maybe no one had played it since Vasek Tesar was sent in disgrace from the concert halls in the mid nineteenth century for daring to play music that everyone felt was too progressive.
He waited until Lenka had finished. The piece was a typical polka that any Czech composer could have written. Catchy, but hardly revolutionary. But this was only one of perhaps a hundred pieces. It was surely unreasonable to expect every one of Tesar's compositions to be world-shattering. Maybe Tesar's violin pieces were the ones that had sparked the controversy.
"Ask Tomas if I can use his telephone. I want to phone my wife." Matt tried not to sound too excited. It was important to play down the importance of the discovery in front of the Duseks. They almost certainly weren't to be trusted.
Tomas told Matt he could use the phone, as long as he paid for the call. Considering they were all sitting on a potential fortune, this struck Matt as being rather mean minded, but he nodded in agreement. He asked Lenka to play another piece. The harsh notes certainly didn't sound like another polka. Lenka stopped after the first few bars and started again. But it sounded the same. It would be easy to believe this was a piece by Shostakovich at his most intense.
"Listen," he said when Zoé answered. He held the mouthpiece towards the piano.
"It sounds ... unusual," Zoé told him. "What is it?"
"It's Vasek Tesar. It's not all like this. There's a Czech polka. Anyway, the good news is we've found his music."
"We?"
Matt explained about the deal he'd been obliged to strike with Stanislav and the Duseks.
"Monsieur Blake will not like it," Zoé observed.
"Monsieur Blake will just have to understand. Phone and tell him what's happened. It will be cheaper if you do it. I've got to pay for this call."
"Exactly what do you want me to say?"
"Tell him I've found ... no, tell him I think I've found Hana's papers. Just be careful not to tell him about the share-out deal I've had to make here."
"I do not like it, Matt. Perhaps I will say the wrong thing."
"Okay, I'll give you the number here, and you can ask Blake to phone me. I won't be going anywhere just yet."
After a little discussion, Zoé agreed.
"Thanks, Zoé. Must go. I don't know what this call is costing. Love you, and give my love to the baby."
"The b
aby is not born yet."
"Then give the bump a little pat for me." He put the phone down and saw that Tomas Dusek was making a note. No doubt the duration had been timed to the second.
As Lenka continued to play, it occurred to Matt that Blake, Smith and even Shelley Carpenter might all be mixed up in this, either working together or as rivals. Blake wanted the manuscripts, but what could interest Smith? And why had Shelley confided in him? That was all something to worry about when he got home.
He returned to the kitchen to make sure that all the papers were safe. Before he went any further he wanted to count them and get the others to agree exactly how many sheets there were. It would save any unpleasant complications later. And maybe he should check them with Ken's UV light. It would stop someone subsequently switching the pages for modern fakes. He was glad now that Ken had talked him into bringing it.
Some of the pieces were no longer than a single page, while others consisted of several pages of tightly packed handwritten notation on single and multiple staves, presumably making up a violin concerto. He could see no sign of a full symphony, which was rather disappointing. Then he came to a page of handwriting. He asked Stanislav what it was.
Stanislav studied the page for a moment, frowning. "It seems to be the work of a school child. It is hard to read, but I can see something about musical theory." He turned the paper over and on the back someone had added a few words with a red pen. Stanislav grinned. "It is like the work I did at my school. The teacher has found many faults."
Matt wasn't bothered about the teacher's comments. "Does it say whose homework it is?"
Stanislav nodded. "Oh yes, the name of the pupil is here at the top. It is Hana Eisler."
Okay, so the contents were genuine. How else could Hana Eisler's marked homework have got amongst these papers if she hadn't handled the contents? "Thank you, Mrs. Smith," he breathed aloud.
Stanislav put the page down and looked at Matt in surprise. "Mrs. Smith?"
Matt felt an explanation was called for. "Mrs. Smith is the mother of someone at the Helios Music Academy in England." He wasn't going to mention the séance. "It was her idea to come here to find the papers."
The piano went silent. Lenka Dusek stood up quickly. "Helios?" she asked, obviously picking up the one word she recognized.