business affairs.
When the stranger discovered that he had no need to worry about an adult witness, he would come hunting for the one person who could tell the police what had happened tonight.
The boy looked over the railing and knew that he could not possibly make it down three flights of stairs to the front door and out into the safety of the night before the killer returned.
He was trapped. . . .
7
A mbrose’s feat of magic went remarkably smoothly the following day. Concordia was more than merely impressed with the timing and the coordination, she was awed. Surely there were very few men in the world who could have organized such a vanishing act.
“The trick is to keep it as simple as possible,” Ambrose explained when he saw them off at the train station. “And to remember that people see what they expect to see.”
The next thing she knew he had disappeared himself. But just before the train pulled out of the station, she caught a glimpse of a scruffy-looking farmer climbing into one of the crowded third-class carriages. Something about the way he moved told her that the man was Ambrose.
A few hours later, after a number of stops in small towns and villages along the way that afforded the passengers the opportunity to stretch their legs, four well-bred young ladies and their teacher descended from a first-class carriage into a busy London station. They immediately gotinto a cab. The vehicle melted into the swollen traffic and the afternoon haze.
An hour later, four working-class youths emerged from a thronged shopping arcade. They were dressed in caps, trousers, mufflers and coats. They sauntered in the wake of a flower seller in a tattered cloak.
The small group drifted through a busy vegetable market and climbed into an empty farmer’s cart. A tarp was stretched over the back of the wagon to conceal the passengers.
Through an opening in the canvas, Concordia caught occasional glimpses of the neighborhoods through which they traveled. Within a short time, the bustle and clatter of the market gave way to a maze of tiny lanes and cramped, dark streets. Scenes of prosperous shops and modest houses followed. That view, in turn, eventually gave way to one of a neighborhood of elegant mansions and fine squares.
To Concordia’s amazement, the farmer’s cart eventually passed through the heavy iron gates at the back of one of the big houses and rumbled to a halt in a stone-paved yard.
The canvas was whipped off the back of the cart. Ambrose, wearing a farmer’s hat and rough clothing, looked down from the driver’s box.
“Welcome to your new lodgings, ladies.” He tossed the reins to a tall, lanky middle-aged man dressed in a gardener’s attire. “This is Mr. Oates. Oates, allow me to introduce Miss Glade and her four students, Phoebe, Hannah, Theodora and Edwina. They will be staying with us for a while.”
“Ladies.” Oates touched his cap.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Oates,” Concordia said.
The girls acknowledged him cheerfully.
Oates looked oddly pleased and somewhat embarrassed by the polite greetings. He mumbled something unintelligible and turned red.
Two large, sleek dogs with sharply pointed ears and well-defined heads bounded forward and stopped directly in front of the small crowd. Their cold, intelligent gaze stirred the hair on the back of Concordia’s neck. The animals reminded her of the portrait of a jackal-headed Egyptian god she had once seen in a museum.
“Meet Dante and Beatrice,” Ambrose said.
Concordia eyed the dogs uneasily. “Will they bite?”
Ambrose’s smile was not unlike that of the dogs. “Of course. What’s the point of having guard dogs that will not rip the throats of uninvited guests? But do not be alarmed. Now that you and the girls have been properly introduced, you are quite safe.”
“You’re certain of that?”
His smile widened. “Absolutely positive, Miss Glade.”
“I say, this was great fun.” Phoebe jumped down from the
When the stranger discovered that he had no need to worry about an adult witness, he would come hunting for the one person who could tell the police what had happened tonight.
The boy looked over the railing and knew that he could not possibly make it down three flights of stairs to the front door and out into the safety of the night before the killer returned.
He was trapped. . . .
7
A mbrose’s feat of magic went remarkably smoothly the following day. Concordia was more than merely impressed with the timing and the coordination, she was awed. Surely there were very few men in the world who could have organized such a vanishing act.
“The trick is to keep it as simple as possible,” Ambrose explained when he saw them off at the train station. “And to remember that people see what they expect to see.”
The next thing she knew he had disappeared himself. But just before the train pulled out of the station, she caught a glimpse of a scruffy-looking farmer climbing into one of the crowded third-class carriages. Something about the way he moved told her that the man was Ambrose.
A few hours later, after a number of stops in small towns and villages along the way that afforded the passengers the opportunity to stretch their legs, four well-bred young ladies and their teacher descended from a first-class carriage into a busy London station. They immediately gotinto a cab. The vehicle melted into the swollen traffic and the afternoon haze.
An hour later, four working-class youths emerged from a thronged shopping arcade. They were dressed in caps, trousers, mufflers and coats. They sauntered in the wake of a flower seller in a tattered cloak.
The small group drifted through a busy vegetable market and climbed into an empty farmer’s cart. A tarp was stretched over the back of the wagon to conceal the passengers.
Through an opening in the canvas, Concordia caught occasional glimpses of the neighborhoods through which they traveled. Within a short time, the bustle and clatter of the market gave way to a maze of tiny lanes and cramped, dark streets. Scenes of prosperous shops and modest houses followed. That view, in turn, eventually gave way to one of a neighborhood of elegant mansions and fine squares.
To Concordia’s amazement, the farmer’s cart eventually passed through the heavy iron gates at the back of one of the big houses and rumbled to a halt in a stone-paved yard.
The canvas was whipped off the back of the cart. Ambrose, wearing a farmer’s hat and rough clothing, looked down from the driver’s box.
“Welcome to your new lodgings, ladies.” He tossed the reins to a tall, lanky middle-aged man dressed in a gardener’s attire. “This is Mr. Oates. Oates, allow me to introduce Miss Glade and her four students, Phoebe, Hannah, Theodora and Edwina. They will be staying with us for a while.”
“Ladies.” Oates touched his cap.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Oates,” Concordia said.
The girls acknowledged him cheerfully.
Oates looked oddly pleased and somewhat embarrassed by the polite greetings. He mumbled something unintelligible and turned red.
Two large, sleek dogs with sharply pointed ears and well-defined heads bounded forward and stopped directly in front of the small crowd. Their cold, intelligent gaze stirred the hair on the back of Concordia’s neck. The animals reminded her of the portrait of a jackal-headed Egyptian god she had once seen in a museum.
“Meet Dante and Beatrice,” Ambrose said.
Concordia eyed the dogs uneasily. “Will they bite?”
Ambrose’s smile was not unlike that of the dogs. “Of course. What’s the point of having guard dogs that will not rip the throats of uninvited guests? But do not be alarmed. Now that you and the girls have been properly introduced, you are quite safe.”
“You’re certain of that?”
His smile widened. “Absolutely positive, Miss Glade.”
“I say, this was great fun.” Phoebe jumped down from the
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