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    hundred years ago. He fashioned it out of a unique material that he had created in his workshop.
    Supposedly the stuff is extremely strong. It is said to be impervious to hammer or chisel."
    Beatrice's brows drew together in a small frown of concentration. "I see."
    "It is also said that the alchemist hid a fabulous treasure inside the statue and sealed the Aphrodite,
    locking it with a key fashioned from a pair of Rings. The statue and the Rings disappeared shortly
    thereafter." Leo spread his hands. "Treasure seekers have searched for them from time to time down
    through the years, but neither the Rings nor the statue has ever been found."
    "Is that all there is to the tale?"
    "That is the essence of the matter, yes. There have been a number of fakes produced over the years. It is
    quite conceivable that in spite of his instincts for antiquities, your uncle fell victim to a scheme designed to
    make him believe that he had purchased the actual Forbidden Rings."
    "Yes, I know that it is possible he purchased some fraudulent artifacts. But I have no choice. I must
    pursue the matter."
    "Assuming that he somehow managed to obtain a pair of Rings, genuine or otherwise, what makes you
    believe that he was murdered because of them?"
    Beatrice released the back of the chair and went to stand at the window again. "In addition to the fact
    that his house was torn apart the very night he died, Uncle Reggie left some notes in his appointment
    book. They indicated that he was becoming quite anxious about something. He wrote that he thought
    someone was following him around London."
    "You said he was a noted eccentric."
    "Yes, but his was not a fearful or overanxious temperament. I also find it rather suspicious that he died
    shortly after purchasing the Forbidden Rings."
    A chill of dread stirred the hair on the back of Leo's arms. Control yourself, man. You study legends, you
    do not believe in them. "Mrs. Poole, if, for the sake of argument, you were to find the Rings, what would
    you do with them?"
    "Sell them, of course." She sounded surprised by the question. "It is the only way we can hope to recover
    at least some of my uncle's money."
    "I see."
    She turned away from the window. "My lord, is there anything else you can tell me about this matter?"
    He hesitated. "Only that it can be dangerous to get involved in an affair that lures treasure hunters. They
    are not a stable lot. The prospect of discovering a great treasure, especially an ancient, legendary one,
    has unpredictable effects on some people."
    "Yes, yes, I can well understand that." She brushed his warning aside with a graceful flick of her wrist.
    "But can you tell me anything more about the Rings?"
    "I heard an unsubstantiated rumor that a while back they turned up in a rather poor antiquities shop
    operated by a man named Ashwater," he said slowly.
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    "Forgive me, my lord, but I already know that much about the business. I went to see Mr. Ashwater. His
    establishment is closed. His neighbors informed me that he had left on an extended tour of Italy."
    It occurred to him that she was losing her patience. He did not know whether to be annoyed or amused.
    She was the uninvited guest here. This was his house. She was the one who had descended on him
    without a by-your-leave and demanded answers to questions.
    "You have already begun to make inquiries?" he asked.
    "Of course. How do you think I came to learn of your expertise in legendary antiquities, my lord? Your
    articles, after all, are published in somewhat obscure journals. I had never even heard your name
    before.1 began my investigations."
    He wondered if he should be insulted. "It's quite true that I am not an author of popular novels, such as
    Mrs. York."
    She gave him a smile that bordered on the condescending. "Do not feel too bad about it. We cannot all
    write well enough to make a living, sir."
    "I write," he said through his