volume out of this house you will have committed what some would call an act of theft.”
“Nonsense. I’m merely going to borrow it for a while.”
“Borrow it?”
“I am involved in an inquiry into the circumstances of my client’s death, after all,” she reminded him brusquely. “I need as much information as I can get.”
“What sort of information do you expect to find in a sketchbook full of pictures of nude statuary?” Baxter demanded.
“Who can say?” She whirled about and marched determinedly past him. “Come. We still have the downstairs rooms left to search.”
Baxter swore softly and started to follow her. But curiosity and an uneasy stirring at the back of his neck caused him to hesitate.
He went back to the window, moved the curtain aside an inch or so, and looked down into the street. The view from this bedchamber was similar to that of the first room he and Charlotte had searched.
The fog had thickened. The gas lamp across the way was only a pinpoint of glare now. It did nothing to illuminate the scene. Baxter waited for a long moment, searching for shadows amid the shadows, but he could not detect any movement.
“Come along, Mr. St. Ives,” Charlotte called softly from the hall. “We must hurry.”
Baxter released the curtain and turned toward the door. He had seen no evidence of anyone lurking in the fog but for some reason he did not feel any sense of relief.
He followed Charlotte downstairs.
A short time later, he closed the last drawer in a desk and pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “We must be off, Miss Arkendale.”
“Just a few more minutes.” Charlotte stood on tiptoe to replace some volumes she had removed from a bookshelf. “I am almost finished.”
“We cannot linger any longer.” Baxter picked up the lantern.
She scanned the bookshelves with a quick, anxious eye. “But what if we have overlooked something of importance?”
“You do not even know what you are searching for, so how will you know if you have overlooked anything?” He took her arm and led her swiftly toward the hall. “Move, Miss Arkendale.”
She glanced at him with sudden alarm. “Is there something wrong, sir?”
“Need you ask?” He drew her down the stairs toward the kitchen. “It is past midnight and we are entertaining ourselves by searching the house of a lady who was recently murdered. You are even now preparing to take an item that once belonged to the previous occupant of these premises. Many people might well feel that there is some cause for concern in this situation.”
“There is no call for sarcasm, sir. When I asked if there was something wrong, I meant something other than your earlier fears concerning our project. You seem more uneasy of a sudden.”
He glanced at her, startled by her perceptiveness. She was right. He had been growing increasingly restless and ill at ease ever since he had spotted the man in the shadows across the street.
It had been a long time since he had experienced this particular very unpleasant, very cold frisson. Three years, to be precise.
He was a man of science and as such he refused to label the feeling as a premonition. But the last time the sensation had struck had been memorable, to say the least. He had the scars to prove how close he had come to getting himself killed.
“Be careful, sir, or we shall both trip on these stairs,” Charlotte whispered. “It will be difficult to get out of here if we are sporting broken legs.”
“We’re almost back to the kitchen,” Baxter said as they went past the housekeeper’s room. “I’m going to put out the lantern now. We will be nearly blind until we get back outside. Do not let go of my arm.”
“Why don’t we wait until we are back on the street before we put out the lantern?”
“Because I don’t want to take the chance of having anyone notice our departure.”
“But no one will be able to see us in the fog,” Charlotte protested.
“The glow of the lantern
“Nonsense. I’m merely going to borrow it for a while.”
“Borrow it?”
“I am involved in an inquiry into the circumstances of my client’s death, after all,” she reminded him brusquely. “I need as much information as I can get.”
“What sort of information do you expect to find in a sketchbook full of pictures of nude statuary?” Baxter demanded.
“Who can say?” She whirled about and marched determinedly past him. “Come. We still have the downstairs rooms left to search.”
Baxter swore softly and started to follow her. But curiosity and an uneasy stirring at the back of his neck caused him to hesitate.
He went back to the window, moved the curtain aside an inch or so, and looked down into the street. The view from this bedchamber was similar to that of the first room he and Charlotte had searched.
The fog had thickened. The gas lamp across the way was only a pinpoint of glare now. It did nothing to illuminate the scene. Baxter waited for a long moment, searching for shadows amid the shadows, but he could not detect any movement.
“Come along, Mr. St. Ives,” Charlotte called softly from the hall. “We must hurry.”
Baxter released the curtain and turned toward the door. He had seen no evidence of anyone lurking in the fog but for some reason he did not feel any sense of relief.
He followed Charlotte downstairs.
A short time later, he closed the last drawer in a desk and pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “We must be off, Miss Arkendale.”
“Just a few more minutes.” Charlotte stood on tiptoe to replace some volumes she had removed from a bookshelf. “I am almost finished.”
“We cannot linger any longer.” Baxter picked up the lantern.
She scanned the bookshelves with a quick, anxious eye. “But what if we have overlooked something of importance?”
“You do not even know what you are searching for, so how will you know if you have overlooked anything?” He took her arm and led her swiftly toward the hall. “Move, Miss Arkendale.”
She glanced at him with sudden alarm. “Is there something wrong, sir?”
“Need you ask?” He drew her down the stairs toward the kitchen. “It is past midnight and we are entertaining ourselves by searching the house of a lady who was recently murdered. You are even now preparing to take an item that once belonged to the previous occupant of these premises. Many people might well feel that there is some cause for concern in this situation.”
“There is no call for sarcasm, sir. When I asked if there was something wrong, I meant something other than your earlier fears concerning our project. You seem more uneasy of a sudden.”
He glanced at her, startled by her perceptiveness. She was right. He had been growing increasingly restless and ill at ease ever since he had spotted the man in the shadows across the street.
It had been a long time since he had experienced this particular very unpleasant, very cold frisson. Three years, to be precise.
He was a man of science and as such he refused to label the feeling as a premonition. But the last time the sensation had struck had been memorable, to say the least. He had the scars to prove how close he had come to getting himself killed.
“Be careful, sir, or we shall both trip on these stairs,” Charlotte whispered. “It will be difficult to get out of here if we are sporting broken legs.”
“We’re almost back to the kitchen,” Baxter said as they went past the housekeeper’s room. “I’m going to put out the lantern now. We will be nearly blind until we get back outside. Do not let go of my arm.”
“Why don’t we wait until we are back on the street before we put out the lantern?”
“Because I don’t want to take the chance of having anyone notice our departure.”
“But no one will be able to see us in the fog,” Charlotte protested.
“The glow of the lantern
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