Read Online The Sword of the Templars by Paul Christopher - Free Book Online

the kitchen of the house. To the chief it looked as though someone had blown out the pilot lights, switched the gas on full, and left some sort of timing device attached to a small initiating device, perhaps something as simple as a cardboard tube filled with match heads.
    There was no way of telling if the arson was professional or amateur; you could find out anything on the Internet these days, including detailed instructions on how to build a time bomb or burn down a building.
    “Miss Blackstock, Colonel Holliday,” said Broadbent, standing up behind his desk as they were ushered into the lawyer’s office by his secretary. “Nice to see you again. So soon.” He didn’t look pleased at all. He extended his hand across the desk. Peggy and Holliday ignored it. “What can I do for you today?”
    My uncle’s house burned down last night.”
    They sat down; so did Broadbent.
    “Yes,” said the lawyer, affecting a solemn tone. He sounded like an undertaker. “A terrible thing.”
    “The fire chief thinks it was arson,” said Holliday.
    “Really?” Broadbent said. “Do you have some sort of experience with that kind of thing?”
    “Somebody burned down my uncle’s house last night, then ran away. I almost caught him.”
    “Really?”
    “Really.” Holliday paused. “He was stealing something from the house.”
    “What would that be?”
    “You know exactly what he was stealing,” said Holliday.
    “I do?”
    “A sword, Mr. Broadbent. The sword you were so interested in yesterday.”
    “So it really does exist then?”
    “You know it does.”
    “What exactly are you inferring?” Broadbent asked mildly.
    “I’m not inferring anything,” snapped Holliday. “I’m telling you straight out: you hired someone to steal the sword and burn down my uncle’s house.”
    “I wouldn’t go around saying that sort of thing in public,” the lawyer advised. “You might find yourself staring a lawsuit in the face.”
    “So you’re denying it?” Peggy asked angrily.
    Broadbent smiled.
    “Of course I’m denying it, Miss Blackstock. I’d be a fool not to, even if by some bizarre stretch of the imagination your allegation had any substance or foundation, which it does not.” The lawyer turned to Holliday. “Besides, Colonel, as we are both aware, you have no proof.”
    “You were asking about the sword yesterday.”
    “Piffle,” said Broadbent, flicking the fingers of one hand into the air. “Coincidence.”
    “My uncle found the sword in 1945. He kept his possession of it a secret for more than sixty years. Why would he do that?”
    “I have no idea,” answered Broadbent.
    “And your father never mentioned it to you.”
    “No. As I mentioned to you yesterday, I only discovered its existence when I reviewed the notes my father had made in your uncle’s file when I took over his practice.”
    “Why would your father have kept the sword’s existence a secret?”
    “I have no idea,” said Broadbent, sighing. “I only know it was very important to him.”
    “Yet he never made any attempt to get it back.”
    “No. Perhaps he didn’t know that your uncle still had the sword in his possession.”
    “He could have asked.”
    “Apparently he didn’t, or at least I have no knowledge that he did.”
    “You said your father was with my uncle when the sword was found.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Are you saying he has some degree of ownership?”
    “Your uncle stole it from him.”
    “So you decided to steal it back?”
    “Don’t be silly.”
    “What was your father doing at Berchtesgaden?”
    “He was a major in the Third Infantry Division, ‘Rock of the Marne.’ He was an adjutant to Major General John W. O’Daniel, the commanding officer.”
    “My uncle wasn’t in the Third Division,” argued Holliday. “He wasn’t in the military at all.”
    “No,” replied Broadbent. “His cover portrayed him as a civilian consultant to the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives Branch. In actual