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Sam and Remi stared at the closed-off area.
“Ideas?” Remi asked.
“Not a one.” He looked at his watch. “If we’re lucky, Selma’s found out something by now.”
Sam retrieved their raincoats from the coat check. Outside, they found a quiet spot to call Selma. Sam held up his phone so that he and Remi could hear. “Tell me you have some good news?” he asked her.
“Sorry, Mr. Fargo. This is a highly anticipated event, with a waiting list. And unless you can convince the organizers that you’re more important than some of the various celebrities on said list, I don’t think you’re getting in.”
“Lazlo? Surely he still has contacts here.”
“Academia isn’t the sort of profession that is able to break through the ranks of royals. Neither is simply being a multimillionaire. I do, however, have some good news.”
“And that would be . . . ?”
“That academia is good for researching the coat of arms. How much do you know about heraldry?”
Remi replied, “Enough to know it’ll put you to sleep slogging through the archaic language.”
“Exactly,” Selma said. “According to Lazlo, it appears your farmer’s wife and her cousin up in Nottingham aren’t related to just any illegitimate son of a minor land baron. It would be a minor land baron who appears to be the illegitimate son of Edmund Mortimer, Second Lord Mortimer.”
“And Mortimer’s significance would be . . . ?” Sam asked.
“The father of Roger de Mortimer, Third Lord Mortimer, who happened to have an affair with Queen Isabella. Undoubtedly one of the reasons he was executed by her son, Edward III.”
“Got it. Any connection to this cipher wheel business?”
“Hard to say. Still working on it, as well as the rest of the coat of arms. It’s like a foreign language. Everything means something.”
“You know where to find us.” He disconnected.
“What now?” Remi asked.
“I say we find a decent pub, have lunch, and figure out our next plan of action.”
They started down the street and hadn’t gone more than a half a block when a Rolls-Royce pulled up alongside them. The rear passenger window rolled down, revealing a man with dark hair salted with gray at the temples. He smiled at them, though
his dark eyes looked anything but friendly, Remi thought.
“You must be the Fargos.”
Sam took Remi’s hand, pulled her back, then stepped between her and the car. “Let me guess. Charles Avery?”
“Sorry to disappoint. Colin Fisk. It seems you and my employer are after the same little bauble. The original cipher wheel.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“By the way, my men survived their car accident yesterday.”
“Don’t recall asking,” Sam said.
“I take it you weren’t able to get tickets to the festivities tonight at the museum?”
Sam gave a casual shrug. “There’ll be other displays and other events.”
“A shame. As I will be there.”
Remi, curious, asked, “And how was it you managed to get tickets?”