Georgie is out and about and looking for the goods, the booty!!!

The ticket collector at Port Siney railway station had been warned by phone from Kingsbridge, Dublin to have a ramp ready for a wheelchair passenger. The old man and his companion negotiated the dismount in an expert fashion. He directed them to leave the station by the goods entrance, wider and more suitable, and they moved away walking and pushing down the Station Road. Curious he thought, a car would be more suitable, it's a good walk to the town. But what taxi around here is wheelchair accessible, they have no choice.

Georgie sat slumped in the chair, eyes alive, darting here and there, watching, seeking for a deep gated entrance. He knew one was along the road, nearby, suitable for the quick change.

“There, next left, he hissed to his helper, in there, quick.”

Once inside he sprung from the chair, folded it quickly, and propped it against the high wall, behind some concealing shrubs. He linked his nurse, smiled and said, “Now off to the old place and have a look at it, then the General, me dear, will treat you to a repast, somewhere in this God forsaken town.”

Bowen Court was gone! The perimeter walls had been removed, the main building renovated to provide offices, and a health clinic. The garden was now a large housing estate and the stables housed a canteen, a restaurant, a Kaf as the commoners misprounced the French word. My God: the outside menu even misspelled the beverage Espresso.

He marched around the estate, searching, trying to find familiar landmarks. The trees had been felled, the privet hedge flattened, the lake a dried up weed covered hollow. The graves? The graves were now paved over and a memorial wall had been built. It contained the names of his victims, and called him a savage, a deranged murderer!

How much had the house been renovated? Was any of the original remaining? What happened to the confession box and the hidden room? The passageway, from the stables had it been removed? Was the booty and the ledgers, the journals still intact?

Half an hour of sightseeing, like a house hunter, scoping out the houses, perhaps considering a purchase, brought them to where the back wall to the walled garden had been. The door would still be there, hidden behind vegetation, inside the weeping boughs of a solitary willow tree. He knew it was.