3
‘I see what you are thinking,’ said Mr. Elvyng, looking at me. ‘I realise what the obvious solution must appear to be. But I beg you to believe it impossible. What motive might either I or my daughter have, for faking the theft of our own grimoire?’
A good question. I wanted to ask about insurance money; Crystobel had mentioned that there had been an insurance valuation made of the grimoire, which suggested a policy also. But the Elvyngs were rolling in wealth. Everything about them proclaimed as much. Why go to such lengths for even more?
‘We made no claim upon the insurance policy,’ continued Mr. Elvyng, and I began to feel unnerved. Were my thoughts written so clearly upon my face? Or was he actually reading my mind?
‘Thank you for clearing that up,’ I said crisply. ‘One has to co
