Текст книги "The Vanishing Thief"

Автор книги: Kate Parker

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

I caught Emma hiding a yawn, which started me yawning. Lady Westover came in and frowned at my wide-open mouth. “Come along. The sooner you tell my grandson and me what happened, the sooner you can get to your beds.”

We found the Duke of Blackford and Detective Inspector Grantham waiting in the parlor, brandy glasses in their hands.

“Do you want tea or would you rather have brandy?” Lady Westover asked.

“Tea. I can barely stay awake now,” I told her. “How much have you heard, Inspector?”

“I’ve learned about the letter Mr. Drake stole from Miss Daisy and how Lord Hancock couldn’t allow anyone to know his late brother created the formula. How any evidence that his brother created the compound would have been in the laboratory Hancock never let anyone into, and that has now burned down. The surviving Hancock made the fortune he subsequently lost and his reputation from his brother’s formula. I take it this is why Drake was attacked and then disappeared. Blackmail is a dangerous game,” Grantham said.

“Drake swears he never tried to blackmail Hancock,” Blackford said.

“Then he was the only person in your club he didn’t try to blackmail,” I said in a peevish tone. It was late, I was tired, and I had run out of patience for circling the truth.

“Drake is a known blackmailer?” Inspector Grantham asked, looking at Emma and me.

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” Blackford said. When I glared at him, he said, “Not provably. None of his victims will admit to it, in part because most of them have managed to extricate themselves.”

“Are you telling me there’s no sense starting an investigation?” the inspector asked.

“There’s no proof of a crime,” Blackford said.

“What about the letters and papers Drake sold to you tonight?” I asked.

“They’re not proof of a crime unless someone wants to come forward and press charges.” Blackford gave me a cold smile over his brandy snifter.

“And no one will press charges for blackmail against the wishes of a duke.” I gave him a hard stare.

“Georgia,” Lady Westover began in her remember where you are voice, “you must be overwrought from the dangers you faced tonight. Your ball gowns were all sooty and torn. Surely you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

“Sir Broderick and I plan to return all of the letters to their rightful owners, or burn them if the owners are dead,” Blackford murmured.

I nearly jumped to my feet, and then remembered where I was. “You did all this—the dresses, the jewels, the invitations—to buy back letters you had no intention of keeping?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Do you want sainthood? Or just the power to make people leap at your every command? I don’t think a good night’s sleep will help this, Lady Westover.”

“Miss Fenchurch,” the duke began.

I’d had enough of the Duke of Blackford pulling the strings while the Archivist Society danced. I rose and stormed from the room, not knowing if I was angrier at him or at myself. I wanted to believe his goal was the same as ours. Instead, he was circumventing justice.

He caught up to me in the hall. “Georgia, listen to me.”

I spun around and glared at him. “While you subvert the course of justice? No. And it’s ‘Miss Fenchurch,’ Your Grace.”

“Miss Fenchurch, I am not subverting justice. I am giving a bright young man and his very loyal wife a chance to start over without having to resort to crime to fund their lifestyle. I think Canada will be a good place for them to begin again. And Mrs. Drake has a sister there.”

I had forgotten about Edith, whose name Anne had borrowed. Staring into his eyes, I said, “Be truthful with me. Now that you have the letters, be truthful with me for a change. Why did you hide your sister’s death?”

He gazed at a spot over my head, but I knew he wasn’t studying the coffered ceiling. “You went to Blackford and saw her grave. Didn’t you?”

I nodded and he continued. “You’re resourceful, I’ll grant you that. I didn’t plan to keep it a secret forever. Only until I took her letters, her embarrassing letters, back from Drake. He made me pay for his silence. He wouldn’t give them to me because he knew I let her die.”

I grabbed hold of his arm. “You didn’t let her die. You weren’t there.”

“He holds me responsible for her death, just as I do. Her letters spell out how Drake was going to help her escape my control, how I was unfairly imprisoning her, how I sided with Victoria, everything. Drake gave me copies of them. He held those letters to remind me how wrong I’d been about Margaret, how I’d failed her, and how I’d forced her to make her daring escape.”

He leaned forward, scowling so close to my face I was forced to bend backward to keep him in focus. His clothes had captured the smoke from the fire and he smelled of brimstone. His straight hair now ended in a few curls at the nape of his neck. I could have sworn his hair was rigidly straight when we arrived at Lady Westover’s.

“I wasn’t there, but I should have been. From her letters, from the reports I was getting from the castle, I thought Margaret was getting better. I learned later she was hiding things from me. She believed Drake could give her the freedom I wouldn’t, while I kept thinking Drake was a good influence on her. If I’d been there, I could have stopped Margaret before she reached the river. I could have saved her.”

Tears filled my eyes. How many times had I said similar words to myself? “No. You couldn’t have. I was right there, and I couldn’t save my family.”

Puzzlement, followed by dawning understanding and then sympathy crossed his face. “That’s why you work with the Archivist Society? To help others so they don’t suffer like you have?”

Thinking of the murderer hardened my expression and I crossed my arms protectively over my chest. “Someday I’ll find the man who killed my parents and stop him from killing ever again.”

He nodded. “I’m certain you will.” He studied the ceiling again. “Tomorrow I’ll have my solicitor correct the records concerning Margaret’s death. I’ve given up blaming Drake for encouraging her to escape. It’s time to let her rest in peace.”

He sounded so mournful for his sister. Had he shown as much grief for his fiancée? “If she can. Did she kill Victoria?”

He stared at the floor. “Mrs. Potter told me about your questions. Did you learn anything more than I did?”

“Lady Margaret ordered lilies of the valley for a floral arrangement that day. Lilies are highly poisonous, even the leaves Sally saw her cutting up into pieces. If Margaret had somehow put them into the tea, anyone who drank it would have died of symptoms similar to Miss Victoria’s.”

“That’s pure speculation, and certainly nothing that can be proven years later.”

My voice rose in fury as I confronted him. “What I find distressing is that you suspected what she’d done, and you did nothing about it. She may have murdered the woman you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with. You were supposed to love and protect Victoria, and instead, you protected her killer.”

“I sent Margaret away. Locked her up. I imprisoned my half sister on a suspicion that she might have killed my fiancée. Might have. If she didn’t, my lack of trust could well have been what sent Margaret to such despair that she deliberately went into the water. And if anyone was guilty of Victoria’s death, it was Victoria and me.”

He glared into my eyes as the twin scents of brandy and smoke enveloped us. His face became a mask of rage, but I couldn’t tell if he was about to strangle me or burst into flame. “Victoria rode her hard and I stood by and let her do it. Victoria said I coddled her too much, and I believed her. Don’t women know more about raising younger half sisters than men?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. And Victoria seemed so certain. That was the one thing I liked about her. Our marriage was to be a dynastic union. She told me so from the start. She’d give me an heir, but not her heart. I didn’t realize until too late she didn’t have one to give.”

If that was Victoria Dutton-Cox’s epitaph, I felt very sorry for her.

The duke must have been overtired, or I doubted he’d have been so open with me. “I was relieved when Victoria died. By then, I’d realized the marriage would be a mistake. She was too rough on Margaret and too disinterested in anything about me but my title. I was so embarrassed when Victoria died, because all I could feel was thankful.

“The way everyone, including me, watched her after Victoria died made Margaret snap. I thought she was doing better, but after that day she lost what little connection she had to reality. I had no choice but to take her back to Castle Blackford.”

“Are you saying Margaret was insane when she killed Victoria? Her plan was very clever. She nearly escaped detection.” I’d hoped to get the truth, but what I heard was as inconclusive as everything else.

“As Margaret grew older, she’d lose the threads that tied her to reality for periods of time. She told me shortly before Victoria died that she’d been thinking a lot about her mother. That should have warned me. We have never had insanity in the Ranleigh bloodline. Margaret’s mother was the first to bring it into our family. She loved Margaret, but not enough to stop her from killing herself in front of the child.”

I realized my mouth was hanging open over this revelation, and I snapped it shut.

He shook his head. “Margaret’s mother suffered from the same . . . confusion as Margaret did. In the grip of madness, she threw herself off the castle walls onto the rocks below. Margaret was a young girl, but old enough to understand what she saw. She was too afraid to ever go near the castle walls again.

“As Margaret grew older, the same malady showed up in her. I didn’t want to believe it, but I had to make certain Margaret never married and passed on this curse.”

“How awful. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t seem to notice as he continued. “As soon as the wedding was over, I planned to take my sister back to Blackford Castle under the guise of showing my bride her new home. I felt if I kept Margaret there, she and Victoria would both be easier to live with.” He let out a deep sigh. “Events overtook my plans.”

A throat cleared behind us. “Grandmama thought you might be in need of a chaperone. I thought you might prefer it not be her.”

Blackford gave him a sad smile. “I’ve heard the police can be very tight-lipped.”

Inspector Grantham nodded in reply.

“I was just assuring Miss Fenchurch that Scotland Yard will find Lord Hancock. He’s still free to cause trouble, and I’m afraid after tonight’s events he’s gone completely mad.”

“Do you know where Mr. Drake is?” Grantham asked.

There was a slight pause before Blackford said, “He went home to pack. He and his wife will be leaving England tomorrow from Southampton.”

“I’ll have a guard posted at his house until he leaves. If Lord Hancock goes after him again, we’ll catch him.” The inspector said his good-byes and went back into the parlor.

I started to follow, but the duke reached out and caught my arm at the elbow. “You won’t tell anyone?”

“No. It’s not my story to tell.” The Archivist Society seemed to be in possession of more secrets than our government intelligence services.

Blackford smiled. “Drake insisted you be present at the ball while we negotiated the price of the papers he held. He didn’t trust me to act fairly with him, but he trusts you. I arranged for your invitation and costume so he could find you easily, and Miss Keyes’s so you’d have a chaperone. I thought you’d want to know.”

I didn’t return his smile, still angry about the danger he’d put Drake in. “I also know why Hancock and Waxpool’s man Price were both at the ball tonight. They knew Drake would be there. And you were the one who told them.”

“Yes.” I must have looked ready to create havoc, because he continued, “The best way to catch whoever was after Drake was to tell them where he’d be.”

“No wonder Drake doesn’t trust you to act fairly with him.”

“If I had known my actions would put you or Miss Keyes in danger, I wouldn’t have told a soul.” He cupped my cheek in the palm of his hand and gazed into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I stared back at him, amazed to hear an apology from a duke, especially this one. “Are you really sorry?”

“Yes. I’d never deliberately do anything to hurt you or Miss Keyes.” He stared at my mouth, then shook his head and stepped back. “Now, I think it’s time that I take you both home. I want you to know I’ll see Sir Broderick in the morning to properly thank him for the help of the Archivist Society.” And then the most extraordinary thing happened. He bowed to me. A duke bowed to me.

Drawing on the regal persona I had worn with my Fire Queen costume, I smiled and gave him a nod such as our queen might bestow on her subjects.

Chapter Twenty-two

THE duke and I gathered Emma on our way out, thanked Lady Westover for her hospitality, and went out into the early morning darkness to climb into the towering carriage. I stopped and looked up, hoping to see the stars. I wanted to see something clean and pure outside of my narrow boundaries. Grayish clouds blocked the sky and wisps of fog swirled around still-burning street lamps and trickled down basement stairs. The street smelled of sulfur. The world matched my mood.

The ride home was quick, since we’d found the time after the partygoers and theater enthusiasts traveled home and before the tradesmen and market stallholders went to work. The clip-clop of horse hooves on pavement was the only sound until Emma said, “Please let me know how Mr. Sumner recovers from his wounds. He was a great help at Lord Hancock’s until the Archivist Society arrived.”

“He’s a brave man,” the duke said.

“Yes, and a thoughtful one. His actions ensured I stayed alive until you came to rescue me, Georgia.”

“What—?” I began, but she shook her head. I was too tired to ask anything more.

I was falling asleep on my feet by the time we reached the door to the flat and the duke made his escape, but Phyllida wanted to hear about the ball. As soon as we mentioned Emma’s abduction, she pulled Emma tightly to her breast and cried out, “Thank God you’re safe. That you’re both safe. Georgia, you take too many risks.”

“I had a job to do. And Emma was dancing with Henry the Eighth.”

“And you know what happened to his wives.”

I blinked as a smile crossed Phyllida’s face. It was late, and I was too tired to think of a reply.

After a moment, Emma rose, kissed Phyllida on the cheek, and said it was time that we all got to sleep.

I couldn’t have agreed more.

*

EVEN IF JACOB and Fogarty had already given Sir Broderick a full accounting, both Emma and I wanted to tell him our thoughts on the events of the previous night. Rising early after a very late night followed by little sleep, we turned down Phyllida’s offer of breakfast and headed out into the busy London streets.

Every bakery and kitchen window we passed gave off luscious smells that reminded us we’d not eaten since our early dinner at Lady Westover’s the day before. We’d only have enough time to talk to Sir Broderick and hopefully be offered some of Dominique’s biscuits before it would be time to open the bookshop.

We hadn’t bothered with our cloaks, since the day was sunny and the cool air would help to wake us up. I hoped my sleepy brain would be able to make change in the shop, since I wasn’t awake enough to see the brewer’s cart barreling down on us until Emma pulled me out of the way.

We cut through the park in Bloomsbury Square and hurried to Sir Broderick’s door, pulled on the bell, and waited. And waited.

“Maybe Jacob is busy getting Sir Broderick dressed and didn’t hear the bell.” I rang again.

When Jacob still didn’t appear, Emma grumbled, “I’m hungry,” and grabbed the doorknob. It turned in her hand and the door silently opened.

No one locked their front doors when there were always servants around to answer any summons, so we walked in. I was surprised not to see someone hurrying in our direction. We were halfway up the stairs to the study before I thought to call out, “Hello?”

“Now is not a good time,” Sir Broderick replied. Something in his voice made me hesitate, but Emma pushed around me on the stairs and kept going.

“Sir Broderick, you wouldn’t believe what—” Her voice died away as she hesitated in the doorway.

“Come in, young lady. Have a seat over here, next to the cook.”

Lord Hancock’s voice. Why was he here? Where was Drake?

Emma stood rooted in place.

“Come in. I insist. Or I’ll shoot Sir Broderick right now.”

Emma moved slowly into the room. I crept back down the stairs, keeping my feet close to the wall so there was less chance of a board squeaking. My heart thumped in my ears. If Hancock didn’t hear me, I could get out of here and summon help.

Each step was a gamble and the staircase went on forever. When it finally ended, I still had to cross the endless entry hall. So far, none of the wooden boards had creaked and given me away. How much longer would my luck last?

My breath caught in my throat as my foot hesitated before taking the first step.

“What did you do to him?” I heard Emma say loudly. “He’s bleeding.” I took two quick steps while her voice covered my movements.

“He’ll be fine as long as you follow directions.” Hancock used a quieter voice, but the menace was unmistakable. I balanced on my toes, ready to move again when there was more noise upstairs.

“Oh, this is terrible. You must stop this at once. I insist. He needs medical attention,” Emma shouted again. This time, the volume of her voice hid my steps across the entry hall and opening the door.

I slipped out and eased the door shut behind me. Then I looked up and down the street in a panic. No sign of a bobby. I decided my best chance was toward New Oxford Street and rushed in that direction. People might have stared. I didn’t care.

I’d run two blocks before I found a policeman. Relieved, I let my feet slow as I tried to pull air into my aching lungs. When I reached the bobby, I gasped out, “You must get a message to Inspector Grantham at Scotland Yard immediately. He’s after a killer named Hancock. The man is in Sir Broderick duVene’s house, holding him and others hostage. Inspector Grantham must come at once.”

“I’ll come with you, miss,” the bobby said, sounding doubtful.

I grabbed his arm by his scratchy wool sleeve and stared into his eyes. “Not until you get a message to Inspector Grantham to come at once.”

The bobby slowly pulled out his notebook and a pencil, and I let go of his arm.

“Inspector Grantham, Scotland Yard,” I repeated. “Hancock has taken prisoners at Sir Broderick duVene’s house. First-floor study. Come at once.”

He laboriously printed every word. “And how would you know this?”

“I escaped from there.”

His pencil hovered in midair. “How did you do that?”

“He didn’t realize I was in the house. I sneaked out the front door. Hurry. We must get that note to Inspector Grantham immediately. He’ll know what to do.” I raised my voice, hoping futilely it would speed up his writing.

The constable flipped over to the next page in his notebook and continued printing. “And your name is . . . ?”

“Miss Georgia Fenchurch.” My fingers itched to grab the pencil and write the message myself.

More printing, onto the third page. “And this Sir Broderick duVene. What’s his address?”

“The inspector knows. That’s why you need to see this message gets to him immediately.”

A tall, antique carriage rounded the corner. I began to wave my arms frantically. “That’s the Duke of Blackford. He’ll help. We’ll get this message passed on to Scotland Yard now,” I shouted.

The duke, looking spotless and wearing perfect creases, without an errant curl in his precisely combed hair, climbed down from his carriage and set his top hat on his head. “Miss Fenchurch, what’s wrong?”

I grabbed his arm, wrinkling the soft fabric of his coat sleeve. “Thank heavens you’re here. Lord Hancock is holding Sir Broderick and Emma hostage in Sir Broderick’s study at gunpoint.”

“At gunpoint?” The bobby’s pencil scratched faster across his notebook.

“Bloody hell, man. Get that message to Detective Inspector Grantham at Scotland Yard immediately,” the duke said in his most commanding ducal tones. Then he called up to the carriage driver, “Take this police officer to Scotland Yard and wait for his return with Inspector Grantham. Sumner, come with us.”

Sumner jumped down from the carriage, and the bobby backed up at the first sight of his scarred face. With an evil-looking grin, Sumner said, “Need a hand up?”

The bobby darted past him and clambered inside.

The carriage took off, and Sumner and the duke rushed up the sidewalk with me. Sumner growled “He has Emma?” in his raspy voice.

“Yes.”

Heat flashed in the man’s eyes, and I suddenly felt almost sorry for Hancock. “How is your wounded arm, Mr. Sumner?”

“It won’t slow me down.”

The duke broke in with rapid-fire questions. “How long has he been there? Does he have any of his chemicals with him? What kind of a gun does he have?”

“I don’t know. Emma went ahead of me, so she was the only one Hancock saw. I never reached the study. I left the house and went looking for help.” I sounded like a coward to my ears, but it was the only plan I’d had at that moment. All I could do now was dash back into the house and pray none of my friends were hurt.

“Does he know you were in there?”

“He didn’t seem to when I left.”

“Sumner, are you armed?” the duke asked.

“Always.”

“If you get a clear opening, take it. Don’t wait for my permission once we enter the study.”

Sumner nodded once.

We reached the house. “The door’s unlocked and doesn’t squeak. The study is upstairs and on the right,” I whispered.

“Wait outside,” the duke said.

“No. He won’t be alarmed to see me. I can get in first and signal you as to where everyone is.” I looked into both men’s eyes. “You know it’s the only way.” I didn’t see agreement, but I didn’t care. Archivist Society members were in danger. I couldn’t stand aside and leave them in peril.

I turned the knob and marched briskly and noisily across the hall and up the stairs, the duke in step with me at my back. “Sir Broderick?”

“This isn’t a good time for a social call,” he said loudly. I hoped Hancock hadn’t learned I’d been here earlier with Emma.

“Anytime is a good time for a social call.” I stomped up the rest of the stairs and stopped in the doorway to the study as if I’d hit a wall. I tried to speak but no words came out.

Jacob was tied up on the floor, his head bloody, his body limp. Emma and Dominique were tied back to back, their arms bound behind them. Both of them were gagged. The ropes binding one woman’s legs wrapped around the other’s throat. If either moved, the other died of strangulation. Sir Broderick sat in his wheeled chair, his hands pinned to the chair’s arms, and his eyes looked past me to the door.

Lord Hancock was gone.

“Who did this?” I cried as I ran first to the two women. As my fingers fumbled with a knot, the Duke of Blackford reached around me with a knife and sliced the rope wrapped around Emma’s throat.

I pulled the gag out of her mouth and she whispered, “Behind you.”

I whirled around, air leaking from my lungs with a gasping sound. Lord Hancock had pushed the door half-closed so he could come out from the corner where he’d hidden. The barrel of the gun in his hand looked large enough to bring down an elephant.

The duke had already freed Dominique’s neck by the time Hancock said, “So the duke arrived with Miss Fenchurch. Good. Now, who has my letters? Sir Broderick says you didn’t give them to him last night. Miss Fenchurch told me you would.”

Blackford sounded completely relaxed when he said, “I don’t have your papers with me. I only planned to call on Sir Broderick this morning and discuss a transfer.”

“Once again, I move against people to get back my papers, only to learn they don’t have them. Blackford, you’re no better than Drake.”

“What do you mean, ‘once again’?” I asked before I considered the wisdom of my words.

“I sent a fool with a bottle of phosphorus and other chemicals to burn down that house outside of Hounslow and get rid of Drake and the letters in one move. It wasn’t until later I learned he got the wrong man and the letters weren’t there. You can’t imagine my disappointment.” He sounded annoyed at the man’s incompetence rather than sickened by the murder. Lord Hancock had to be mad, and I knew that didn’t help our chances of getting out alive.

“Why do you want a copy of your old formula? You must know it by heart,” Blackford asked.

“I want my brother’s letter to Daisy because of what it proves. And don’t try to hide your knife. Set it down on the rug. Good. Now kick it over here.”

The duke did as he was told with an air of complete indifference. “What does the letter prove?”

Hancock kicked the knife to the corner of the room without taking his eyes off us. “You know very well what it proves. That my brother developed the formula before he died. And that I killed him and his wife.”

“Why would you kill your own brother? Just for the formula or for the title?” I asked. I needed to keep him talking. Sumner had to be nearby, ready to rescue us.

“The title is useless. It didn’t come with anything but debts. I sold off everything I could, but it wasn’t enough. The formula gained me money and fame for a while, but now I need to come up with another invention as successful as the first. Another chemical compound that will bring me lots of money and full membership in the Royal Society.”

“But your laboratory was destroyed.”

“All the fault of that clumsy young man there. If he hadn’t knocked over those beakers, the fire wouldn’t have traveled to the explosives. I kept them safely tucked away in the corner so nothing would happen to them. One reason why I didn’t want people marching through my laboratory.” Watching us all the time, he walked over to where Jacob lay and kicked him in the stomach.

I couldn’t let him abuse Jacob. I took two steps toward him. “Where are you going to find another laboratory?”

“After I finish with all of you, I’ll have to escape back to Africa. There I’ll study the effects of plants on humans. I have experience in the field. I’ll regain my fame. I just need to find the right plant.”

“Going to practice on yourself?” Blackford asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Of course not. There are plenty of natives I can use.”

“They may not like it,” I suggested. What was taking Sumner so long? Then I realized. Hancock was staying to the side of the doorway. Sumner would have to show himself before he could find Hancock to kill him, and by then, Sumner would be dead.

“That’s of small importance.”

“Tell me about poisoning your brother,” Blackford said.

“You know how I killed him? Oh, yes, you’ve read the other letter.” He kept the gun trained on me. I kept my chin up to mask my trembling and watched him. “It was Daisy’s birthday. My brother and his wife were having a family dinner with their wretched daughter. I’d already said I had a previous engagement. One of my brother’s favorite dishes was cooked with spinach fresh from the garden. It was easy to mix a quantity of leaves from the foxglove growing in the flower garden into the basket and remove some of the spinach. The effect of foxglove isn’t diminished by cooking.” His chest seemed to swell and his smile reminded me of the expression “licked his chops.”

“But Daisy survived,” I said.

“You can’t imagine how disappointed I was to be saddled with that self-important little minx. It turned out she didn’t like spinach, so her parents allowed her to decline the dish. Can you imagine? A child telling her parents what she will or will not eat? Preposterous.”

“But why kill them for the formula?” I asked.

“I knew he had discovered something clever. Something that would make money. And more importantly, something that would garner praise from the Royal Society. Though how he could come up with a brilliant formula when all he did was dabble, while I devoted my life to scientific research, was something I don’t understand. Of course, he had that wonderful laboratory. I wanted that, too.” Lord Hancock frowned at Blackford and raised his pistol to aim straight at the duke’s heart.

He nodded toward a coil of rope on the floor. “Tie Miss Fenchurch up in that chair,” he instructed the duke.

I began to walk toward the chair, encouraged by Hancock now pointing the gun at me. “You mentioned a letter?”

“Didn’t the duke tell you? Daisy insisted on hosting a large party while we were still living at Chelling Meadows, during which Drake broke into my laboratory. He found the letter the cook wrote to her sister a few months after my brother’s death, spelling out her suspicions.

“The cook’d been looking at me in an odd way. When she sneaked out of the house the night she was supposedly killed by a thief, she was going to mail the letter. At the time, the shortest way to the postbox was by the laboratory. I saw her and followed her. She never mailed the letter.” He smiled and turned his head toward Blackford. “Tie her up.”

Blackford had worked his way to the side wall. “You tie her up.”

Hancock’s finger moved on the trigger as he aimed at me. “Then she won’t be tied up. I’ll just shoot her.”