"This is stupid." Melvin Collins jammed his hands into his pockets and
hunched his shoulders against the rain. "Let's go have a drink and warm
up."
"No, it isn't and we'll have one later." Elliott Marston pulled his hat lower over his eyes. It was an effective enough disguise in the pale glow provided by the gaslights on the sidewalk. "Come on."
It was the end of a long, frustrating day. Sam Marston's discovery of the warehouse note had prompted a thorough examination of all the remaining papers, with disappointing results. After the personal and family documents had been set apart, they were left with more receipts, two other contracts and a handful of yellowed newspaper articles. Most of them were stories or obituaries of men whom Sam knew to be her father's friends but she wasn't able to identify all of them.
The name of Major Rodney Ashley-Pitt was an unwelcome surprise. For the rest of the day, Marston was withdrawn and silent, going over in his mind the history of their relationship over many years. He was unable to think of any reason why the major would have wanted him harmed or dead. It was simply irrational.
After hours of fruitless pondering, Marston made up his mind. It was time to take action and shake some answers out of someone.
"What if he's not home?" Collins grimaced as the rain trickled under his collar. He stepped closer to the fence for shelter. "Or in bed? He's an old man. He might not be up this late."
"We'll just have to take our chances. And I'm not afraid to wake him up." Marston ran his hand over the latch in the gate. "Now be quiet. I have to concentrate."
The lawyer subsided into a worried calm. Marston lifted the iron lever and pushed open the door carefully. He peered into the darkness of the garden. There was no light from the kitchen or the back rooms, although a window on the second floor was illuminated. Walking through the yard on this moonless night would be a challenge.
Marston straightened up and nodded. "All right, I'll go first. You wait here and keep an eye - "
"You know what Elliott? I read a book where a guy had to go through a real dark place just like this!"
At the first sound of a strange voice, Collins sprang into the air and fell against the wooden planks of the fence with a loud thud. He pawed the air with his hands ineffectually before slumping almost to his knees. Marston was quicker. He spun around and leaped on the new arrival, pressing him back to the other side of the lane. With one savage jerk, he tore the other's scarf from his face.
"Niall!" Marston was hoarse with shock. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I followed you. I thought you'd need extra help on this case." The boy looked up with a huge smile, wincing slightly under the pressure of Marston's grip. "Anyways, like I said, in this book - "
"Never mind the book." Marston forced himself to release his captive. The temptation to warm his brother-in-law's backside was too attractive. "You go back to Belle's place right now. Your sister will be worried sick."
"No, she won't. And besides, if I do go back, Len or somebody will wake her up to tell her I was out and then she'll see that you're out too and then she'll get even more worried and she might do something dumb like cry or something and then I'll have to tell her where you are so's she won't come looking for you." Niall took a deep breath and exhaled noisily.
Collins stared at him with amazement bordering on awe. Marston struggled for speech.
Niall leaned forward and said in a kindly tone, "If we're going in, we'd better hurry. The light upstairs just went out."
"We're going to have a long talk about this tomorrow, do you understand?" Marston hissed through clenched teeth. He grabbed the boy's arm and thrust him at the lawyer. "Hold onto him for me. I'll go in alone. Don't let him go for a second!"
Collins nodded and laid a firm hand on his smug prisoner's shoulder.
Marston slipped into the garden and closed the gate behind him. Surfaces shiny from the rain surrounded him even in the dark. He took small steps along the path, careful to tread noiselessly on the grass rather than the gravel. The kitchen door loomed up ahead. Under the small protection of the eaves, he examined the lock.
It was an old-fashioned one, with a simple mechanism. A few pokes with a small instrument that had proved helpful in other situations and he was gratified to hear a sharp "snick" as the bolt moved back. A quick turn of the knob and he was in the kitchen.
His breathing was loud in his ears as he shut the door behind him. For a few tense moments he could hear nothing else and imagined being surprised by an occupant who heard him. But no one appeared out of the darkness.
His memory of the house was not recent but he seemed to recall that the main feature of the first floor was a long central hallway with rooms opening off it on both sides. The staircase began just inside the front hall. He pushed open the first door and headed for his quarry.
A thick carpet covered the floors and the stairs. Moving lightly on the balls of his feet he paused on the second floor landing and counted the doors until he determined which one possessed the recently lit window. He reached for the door knob, counted to ten and entered the room.
The bed was against the near wall. Even in the gloom, Marston could make out the lump under the covers as he pulled a long, thin blade out of his pocket. Silence was forgotten. In two strides he was across the room and kneeling on the mattress. His left hand covered his victim's mouth and his right held the blade to the unfortunate's throat.
The sleeper woke up immediately, clawing at his restraints. Marston shifted to prevent him from gaining any purchase to free himself. The struggle was short and one-sided. Finally the man lay back, his chest heaving.
Marston smiled evilly. "Good morning, Mr. Connaught. I find I have pressing banking matters to discuss with you tonight."
"No, it isn't and we'll have one later." Elliott Marston pulled his hat lower over his eyes. It was an effective enough disguise in the pale glow provided by the gaslights on the sidewalk. "Come on."
It was the end of a long, frustrating day. Sam Marston's discovery of the warehouse note had prompted a thorough examination of all the remaining papers, with disappointing results. After the personal and family documents had been set apart, they were left with more receipts, two other contracts and a handful of yellowed newspaper articles. Most of them were stories or obituaries of men whom Sam knew to be her father's friends but she wasn't able to identify all of them.
The name of Major Rodney Ashley-Pitt was an unwelcome surprise. For the rest of the day, Marston was withdrawn and silent, going over in his mind the history of their relationship over many years. He was unable to think of any reason why the major would have wanted him harmed or dead. It was simply irrational.
After hours of fruitless pondering, Marston made up his mind. It was time to take action and shake some answers out of someone.
"What if he's not home?" Collins grimaced as the rain trickled under his collar. He stepped closer to the fence for shelter. "Or in bed? He's an old man. He might not be up this late."
"We'll just have to take our chances. And I'm not afraid to wake him up." Marston ran his hand over the latch in the gate. "Now be quiet. I have to concentrate."
The lawyer subsided into a worried calm. Marston lifted the iron lever and pushed open the door carefully. He peered into the darkness of the garden. There was no light from the kitchen or the back rooms, although a window on the second floor was illuminated. Walking through the yard on this moonless night would be a challenge.
Marston straightened up and nodded. "All right, I'll go first. You wait here and keep an eye - "
"You know what Elliott? I read a book where a guy had to go through a real dark place just like this!"
At the first sound of a strange voice, Collins sprang into the air and fell against the wooden planks of the fence with a loud thud. He pawed the air with his hands ineffectually before slumping almost to his knees. Marston was quicker. He spun around and leaped on the new arrival, pressing him back to the other side of the lane. With one savage jerk, he tore the other's scarf from his face.
"Niall!" Marston was hoarse with shock. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I followed you. I thought you'd need extra help on this case." The boy looked up with a huge smile, wincing slightly under the pressure of Marston's grip. "Anyways, like I said, in this book - "
"Never mind the book." Marston forced himself to release his captive. The temptation to warm his brother-in-law's backside was too attractive. "You go back to Belle's place right now. Your sister will be worried sick."
"No, she won't. And besides, if I do go back, Len or somebody will wake her up to tell her I was out and then she'll see that you're out too and then she'll get even more worried and she might do something dumb like cry or something and then I'll have to tell her where you are so's she won't come looking for you." Niall took a deep breath and exhaled noisily.
Collins stared at him with amazement bordering on awe. Marston struggled for speech.
Niall leaned forward and said in a kindly tone, "If we're going in, we'd better hurry. The light upstairs just went out."
"We're going to have a long talk about this tomorrow, do you understand?" Marston hissed through clenched teeth. He grabbed the boy's arm and thrust him at the lawyer. "Hold onto him for me. I'll go in alone. Don't let him go for a second!"
Collins nodded and laid a firm hand on his smug prisoner's shoulder.
Marston slipped into the garden and closed the gate behind him. Surfaces shiny from the rain surrounded him even in the dark. He took small steps along the path, careful to tread noiselessly on the grass rather than the gravel. The kitchen door loomed up ahead. Under the small protection of the eaves, he examined the lock.
It was an old-fashioned one, with a simple mechanism. A few pokes with a small instrument that had proved helpful in other situations and he was gratified to hear a sharp "snick" as the bolt moved back. A quick turn of the knob and he was in the kitchen.
His breathing was loud in his ears as he shut the door behind him. For a few tense moments he could hear nothing else and imagined being surprised by an occupant who heard him. But no one appeared out of the darkness.
His memory of the house was not recent but he seemed to recall that the main feature of the first floor was a long central hallway with rooms opening off it on both sides. The staircase began just inside the front hall. He pushed open the first door and headed for his quarry.
A thick carpet covered the floors and the stairs. Moving lightly on the balls of his feet he paused on the second floor landing and counted the doors until he determined which one possessed the recently lit window. He reached for the door knob, counted to ten and entered the room.
The bed was against the near wall. Even in the gloom, Marston could make out the lump under the covers as he pulled a long, thin blade out of his pocket. Silence was forgotten. In two strides he was across the room and kneeling on the mattress. His left hand covered his victim's mouth and his right held the blade to the unfortunate's throat.
The sleeper woke up immediately, clawing at his restraints. Marston shifted to prevent him from gaining any purchase to free himself. The struggle was short and one-sided. Finally the man lay back, his chest heaving.
Marston smiled evilly. "Good morning, Mr. Connaught. I find I have pressing banking matters to discuss with you tonight."