Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the library of Eaton House, which was almost cozy, considering that it was an estate with no personal effects in it whatsoever. The room they were in was filled with books, objects, and paintings, but it lacked any specific touches: no family photos, no albums, no libraries of worn-out paperbacks. Horatio had lit a fire and was serving the three of them hot apple cider.
“There was a stipulation in your grandfather’s will,” he explained. “A private agreement that he and I had together. Not something the lawyers would have read to you yesterday.”
Nick was amazed at how much of the Bell family business Horatio was aware of. He warned himself to be on guard. As they sat there drinking cider, Nick was reminded for a moment of their time at the Great Cottage on Isis Island. He and all the other Initiates were dulled into submission with a steady dose of mouthwatering food, the best drinks, music, and good conversation. It had all concealed the fact that the Society was responsible for some truly evil deeds.
Was Horatio a member? An employee of the Bradford Trust Association? Nick had no idea.
“The stipulation was that your grandfather asked that if you did not reach your goal by the time of his death, I was to help you. I was about to visit you in Manhattan and bring you here, but I was informed this morning that you had already left. I think your grandfather would have been very pleased.”
“What is this goal exactly?” Nick asked. “It would help if you could be a bit more specific.”
“I can’t be any more specific than your grandfather was,” Horatio said. “I am an employee of his estate.”
“Come on, can’t you just give it up and tell us what’s going on?” Patch said.
Horatio looked at them blankly. “Gentlemen, my life’s purpose was to serve your grandfather. I can’t leave him now, particularly when he has no say in the matter.”
“But that’s exactly the point!” Nick said. “He has no say in the matter. Can you at least tell us what we’re looking for? What’s he going to do? Fire you from the grave?”
“Master Bell, I can’t bear to hear your grandfather spoken of that way. I am sorry if my vocation doesn’t agree with you. I am only here to serve.”
Nick sighed. The guy was like a robot.
Phoebe stepped in, and Nick was grateful.
“Horatio, why don’t you show us what Mr. Bell wanted us to see? I think that’s what he would have liked, right?”
Horatio pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He unfolded it carefully, and read it as if declaiming poetry: “‘You must go to the beach, you must go down below. Below the surface of things.’”
“That’s what my grandfather told us,” Nick said.
“Wait a second,” Phoebe said. “It’s obvious.”
“What’s obvious?” Nick asked. “Do we have to start digging or something?”
“No,” Phoebe said. “The key will open up a door in the basement.”