“Mrs. Dunning is a rather interesting piece of this puzzle,” she said. “It might be useful to take a quick look through the drawers of her desk.”
“Odd you should mention that,” Benedict said. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
He took two steps before he felt the slightly raised object under the carpet. At the same time he heard a faint, muffled click. A small spark flashed underneath the desk.
“Run,” he snapped. “Back door. It’s the closest. Move, woman.”
Amity whirled, grasped handfuls of her skirts and cloak and fled down the hall. He followed.
Amity stumbled, swore, regained her balance and kept going. But she was not moving fast enough. He realized it was the weight of her gown and the cloak that was slowing her down. The heavy folds threatened to trip her. He seized her arm and half dragged, half carried her down the hall and out through the back door.
They burst outside into the dead gardens seconds before the explosion erupted in Dunning’s study.
Within moments the house was consumed in flames. Dark smoke billowed into the air.
Benedict took Amity’s arm and steered her back through the iron gates. Once they were safely outside the grounds he drew Amity to a stop. They both turned to watch the house burn.
“He set a trap,” Benedict said. “Well, now, isn’t that interesting?”
Thirty-one
Amity listened to the frantically galloping hooves of a terrified horse bolting down the long lane.
“So much for our cab,” she said.
She could not take her eyes off the burning mansion. Her pulse was pounding harder than it had the day she and her guide had rounded a corner on a Colorado mountain trail and found themselves confronting a bear. The extraordinary spectacle of the blazing ruins and the knowledge that she and Benedict had very nearly died in the explosion riveted her senses.
“He intended us to die in that house,” Benedict said.
“The driver will no doubt assume that we were killed in the explosion,” she said.
“Yes,” Benedict said. “I believe he will.”
She got the impression that he was doing some intricate calculations in his head. She took her attention off the inferno long enough to glance at him.
“You have another plan in mind, don’t you?” she said.
“Perhaps.”
She turned back to the view of the fire. The flames roared, consuming the interior of the mansion. Even though she and Benedict were some distance away she could feel the waves of heat. The stone walls would stand, she thought. But by morning Hawthorne Hall would be a burned-out hulk.
“Do you think this fire will ignite the woods?” she asked.
“Doubtful,” Benedict said. “There is little to burn in the immediate vicinity of the house and it has been a damp summer. In any event, there is another storm coming. The rain will suppress the blaze.” He studied the dark clouds. “We need to find shelter soon.”
“Surely the driver will summon help.”
“He will no doubt carry the tale back to the village, but there is no way the local fire brigade can defeat a house fire of this size. A few curiosity seekers may show up this evening, but even that is unlikely.”
“Like the driver, everyone in the village will assume that we are dead.”
“Yes,” Benedict said. “And that may prove quite useful.”
“I detect the engineer at work again.”
“We may have something of a grace period tonight, a time to think about what we have learned. I have been overlooking an important piece of the puzzle, Amity. I can feel it.”
“Isn’t it possible that the killer was watching the house and saw us flee into the woods?”
