Read Online Old Tin Sorrows by Glen Cook - Free Book Online

wouldn’t be in the interest of whoever was trying to enlarge his share of the estate.
    I could be up to my neck in villains.
    I did hit the sack right away. I doubt Peters believed I would, because he knew the hours I keep. But I did need sleep and I had plans for the wee hours of the morning.
     
     

9
     
    At home I usually control my internal clock. Go to sleep when I want, wake up when I want, give or take ten minutes. I didn’t leave the clock behind. I woke right on time.
    And was aware of a presence before I opened my eyes. I don’t know how. Some sound so soft I didn’t catch it consciously. Some subtle scent. Maybe just a sixth sense. Whatever, I knew somebody was there.
    I was on my left side, facing the wall opposite the door, sunk so deep in eiderdown, I couldn’t move fast if you branded me. I tried sneaky, faking a slow rollover in my sleep.
    I didn’t fool, anybody. All I saw was the tail end of the blonde sliding out the bedroom door. “Hey! Hang on. I want to talk to you.” She bolted.
    I climbed up out of that bed, tangled myself in the covers, fell on my face, said colorful things. That’s Garrett. Light on his feet. A real gymnast. Has moves like a cat. When I hit the sitting room she was gone and there wasn’t a sign she’d been there. The door was locked.
    I lighted a few lamps and surveyed the big room. I hadn’t heard the door. I hadn’t heard a key in the lock. I didn’t like that.
    Damned spooky old house was the kind that might come equipped with secret passages and hidden panels and all that stuff, maybe with secret dungeons below the root cellar and bones buried behind false foundations. I was going to have a nice time here, I was, I was. All I needed to make it a real vacation were ghosts and monsters. I went to the window. The sky was clear. A nail paring of moon was headed west.
    “Come on. You’re not trying. We need some rain and lightning. Or at least some fog on the moor and something howling in the night.”
    Back for a circuit of the room. I didn’t find any secret entrances.
    I’d deal with that later, when there was time to measure walls and whatnot. Right now I had to prowl, while at least some of the denizens of the place weren’t keeping track.
    I dragged my tinsuit friend out of the closet, into the bedroom. I detached him from the support that held him upright, put him in bed. Better than using pillows to make it look like somebody was home. Looked perfect once I pulled a sheet over his helmet. “Rest easy, buddy.”
    I didn’t like the way things were going. Somebody here might be less than friendly. I collected my favorite head-knocker, an oak nightstick with a pound of lead in the business end, then slipped into the hall. I was alone out there. One lamp burned. Presumably Dellwood had been around to snuff the others to save oil. He was the only guy I’d seen working, other than Cook.
    I’d have to find out what everybody did. Should’ve asked Peters while I had him.
    I went to the east end of the hall where a small window looked out on the grounds. Nothing out there but darkness and stars. The werewolves and vampires were taking the night off. I retreated to the first door on the left.
    I seemed to be the only inhabitant of that floor in the wing so I didn’t try for quiet. I picked the lock and marched in, lamp in front in my left hand, head-knocker in my right. I needn’t have bothered. The room was a warehouse for cobwebs. Nobody had been in there in a decade.
    I did a cursory inspection, went to the room across the hall. Same story. Every suite on the floor was the same, except the last, which showed signs that someone had visited recently. In that room I noted circles on the mantel where the dust was thinner. Like something had been removed. Candlesticks or small doodads. I tried to get something from the marks left by the visitor’s feet. There’s always hope you’ll find something unique, like maybe feet the size of pumpernickels or only two