Sam took the tool. It was long and thin with a hooked tip. “I can’t imagine your lovers enjoy that very much,” he said dryly.
“Women are more complex than a lock. I thought you’d know that already. Poor Daisy.”
Sam snarled at him over his shoulder as the lock clicked. “Don’t use her name. You are not on familiar terms with her.”
Sam opened the drawer. There, a red, leather bound soft sided journal sat. He picked it up, about to finger open the pages to be sure it was indeed the diary.
“Don’t open it,” Chase warned.
“How do I know if it’s the diary, then?”
“Take this.” He handed over the chest and took the journal from Sam. He fanned through the pages, stopping on one. “It’s definitely a diary.”
Sam raised a brow. “Good. Then take this back and give it to me.”
Sam tucked the diary in the pocket of his inner coat. The weight of it reminded him of the future he was desperately trying to cling to and the woman waiting for him at home. “Let’s go.”
Chase checked the hall. “It’s clear.”
“You’re dripping blood,” Sam whispered. “Here.” He handed Chase a handkerchief and Chase pulled up his trouser leg and tied it tightly around the weeping puncture wounds. His leg was already bruising.
“This way.” Chase headed in the direction of the treasure room.
“No. I’m going out the kitchen door,” Sam said. He’d come this far, somehow successfully. He wouldn’t risk breaking his neck now.
“That’s where those men and those blasted dogs are. If they’ve managed to get out of the root cellar.”
“The dinner party is in full swing,” Sam argued. “Someone would have raised an alarm if the guards got loose and they suspected an intruder in the house.”
“How do you intend to walk out of any door looking like a street ruffian?”
Sam looked own at his attire. He was dripping water from his coat onto the rug. No doubt it would be glaringly obvious someone had been here who didn’t belong. But Chase was right—he couldn’t blend in with a dinner party like this.
“Create a diversion.”
“Like what? Get mauled by a dog in the front hall?”
“We need a pig,” Sam said.
“A—what for?”
“A squealing pig running through the house will draw everyone.”
Chase huffed in annoyance. “And where are we supposed to get a pig? Does she keep one in the dressing room?”
Sam snapped his fingers. “That’s it.”
“What now?”
Sam walked to the hearth and closed the chimney flue. Then he loaded up the fire with logs, the hungry flames greedilyconsuming the dry wood and smoke building until it started pouring out the hearth and filling the ceiling.
“You’ll burn the place down,” Chase warned.
“Not if we get help as quickly as possible. Check the hall again. Go to the stairs and yell fire.”
“Then what?”
“Then just follow me.”
