The Mystery Woman (Ladies of Lantern Str - By Amanda Quick Page 0,61

To her surprise, however, he crossed the chamber to the large stone statue and disappeared behind it.

“There is a servants’ door back here,” he announced. “Excellent observation, Beatrice.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I made it with my paranormal senses.”

He reappeared from behind the granite figure. “It’s far more likely you felt the draft yourself last night and registered the approximate location using your normal sense.”

“You are very good at concocting normal explanations to explain the paranormal.”

“That is because the normal explanations usually suffice.”

“Mmm.”

She walked through the maze of antiquities to join him. When she rounded the granite figure she saw that the door had been designed to be as unobtrusive as possible. Its location behind a jumble of relics made it virtually undetectable from anywhere else in the chamber. A large portion of a tomb painting stood directly in front of it.

“The killer knew about this door,” Joshua said. “That means he has more than a passing familiarity with the hall. Clement Lancing moved in a circle that included a number of collectors. He would have known Alverstoke.”

“Do you think Lancing is the killer?”

“No,” Joshua said. “Lancing had no skill with a knife. He would have used other methods. Poison, most likely.”

Joshua wrapped one hand around the doorknob and twisted. The door opened easily enough. Beatrice found herself peering at a flight of stone steps that disappeared into a sea of night. The killer’s footprints burned on the steps.

“He was in a rage,” she said. “Furious because he had been interrupted before he could finish whatever it was he came here to do.”

Joshua contemplated the darkness for a moment.

“I’ll get a lantern,” he said. “We will find out where this leads.”

Twenty-Six

A short time later they started down the ancient steps. Beatrice held the lantern. The light splashed on old stone as they made their way downward into the depths of the old house.

“I can see the killer’s footsteps in the dust,” Joshua said. “He entered the mansion using this passage and he left the same way.”

Beatrice heightened her talent and studied the hot prints. “Yes, it’s the same man who was waiting for me last night, the assassin who murdered Roland. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s an obvious enough conclusion.”

“It’s a good thing I have long been accustomed to having people question my abilities,” she said. “Otherwise I might take offense at your constant skepticism.”

“I do not mean to offend you.” There was genuine apology in his voice. “It is just that I think you have a rather vivid imagination.”

“Do you ever allow your imagination to get carried away by fanciful thoughts, Mr. Gage?”

“I do my best to guard against those sorts of distractions. They rarely yield any useful results.”

“But on occasion?” she prompted.

“I’m only human.”

“You say that as if it were a serious character flaw.”

They descended a few more steps and rounded a corner into another dank passageway. Beatrice’s heart sank. The corridor that stretched before them was narrow and filled with unrelenting darkness. She felt the old, familiar edginess spike higher. She held the lantern aloft, hoping to cast the light farther into the shadows.

“Last night,” Joshua said.

The words came out of nowhere. Beatrice wondered if, in her struggle to control her nerves, she had missed something in the conversation.

“Sorry,” she said. “What about last night?”

She forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly. She could do this. She had a lantern. Joshua was with her.

“Last night when we kissed in that alcove,” Joshua said. “That was the last time I got distracted by fanciful thoughts.”

“Oh, I see.” She was not sure what to say to that. She knew she was blushing again and for a few seconds she was grateful for the flood tide of darkness that surrounded her.

She was trying to come up with an appropriate response when Joshua stopped abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, shivering a little.

“The air has changed. You can smell the sea.”

She breathed in cautiously, paying close attention to the atmosphere. Then she caught it, the unmistakable whisper of salt-tinged air. There was a muffled roar in the distance. The pounding of waves on a rocky shore, she thought.

“This passage must lead to the sea.” She looked down at the traces of energy on the stone floor. “By the time he got this far he was calmer, more controlled. But he was still frustrated and angry. No, it’s more than just anger. It’s a kind of obsessive rage.”

“A logical assumption based on our knowledge of him,” Joshua said. “He is a professional in a bloody business.