The Seventh Scroll

read aloud the brass plate fixed to the front of it: "'The Permanent
loan of Sir Nicholas and Lady Quenton, Harper."'
He turned back to stare at Nicholas incredulously.
"And you were the one who picked on me for turning over the money from
the sale of the blue crown!" he accused him. "How could you bring
yourself to give up your share of the loot, Nicholas?"
"It wasn't easy," Nicholas admitted with a sigh, "but I was faced with a
delicate ultimatum from a certain party who is not standing a million
miles away from us at this very moment."
"Don't feel too sorry for the poor boy," Royan laughed.
"He still has a big lump of Peter Walsh's money tucked away in
Switzerland, the proceeds of the sale of the Nemes crown. I was unable
to talk him into handing everything over."
"Enough of these public disclosures of my domestic affairs, said
Nicholas firmly. "The sun is long gone, and it's whisky time. I think I
saw a bottle of Laphroaig behind the bar at the hotel, Let's go and find
out if I was mistaken." He took Royan's arm and led her away, and the
other two followed closely, laughing delightedly at his discomfort.