Martin Doyle arrived the next morning and accompanied them into the room under the cabin. He barely looked at the watches or coins. Instead, he read Walter’s inventory, the estate invoice, and letters Caroline had found. “E.H. was Edmund Harrow,” he finally said, naming a respected nineteenth-century painter Walter had studied for years.
Martin explained that Walter once bought an unattributed lake painting from an estate sale. He later suspected it was a lost Harrow work, but he lacked enough evidence to prove it. Andrew showed him the room. Martin measured the rear wall, then frowned. The chamber was several feet shorter than the foundation above.
They removed two wooden plugs near the corner, revealing hidden screws. A wall panel shifted forward. Behind it was a narrow second chamber containing one large protective crate. Across the front, Walter had written: 128. Andrew and Martin opened it carefully. Inside was an oil painting of the lake before roads and houses surrounded it. Beneath the crate were old photographs, letters, restoration records, and ownership documents. Martin studied the faint signature without touching the canvas. “This is why he kept everything together,” he said. “If these records are genuine, they may prove exactly what this is.”