“That one, I think,” Captain Michael Edgerton said thoughtfully, gazing up at one of the ornate drainpipes that adorned the exterior of Corland Castle. “No clutter around the bottom, and that window up there looks like it might be readily prised open.”
“Ye must be mad,” Sandy said with a grin. “I’ll scrape ye off the ground if ye come to grief.”
“Nonsense,” Michael said briskly. “Nothing to it. I have climbed far worse, I assure you.”
Two or three of the grooms paused their sweeping to watch, and Michael thought he saw the glint of coins changing hands. That was fine by him. They could bet on him all they liked, but unless the murderer lived within the castle, he must have broken in somehow and nipping up a drainpipe was as easy as winking to a man used to climbing.
And it was indeed as easy as winking. Up he went, leaving the kitchen level behind and then past the ground floor. Looking down, he saw quite a crowd gazing up at him, as half the servantsabandoned their chores to watch the entertainment. He gave them a flourishing wave, which raised a small cheer, then turned back to the pipe.
He had paused, considering the best way past the overhang that divided the two principal floors when there was an ominous creaking sound. He froze, listening. For a moment, there was silence. Then, with majestic slowness and a great showering of masonry dust, the whole top of the pipe was ripped away from the wall, leaving Michael dangling one-handed in mid-air.
Down below, screams and running feet and general pandemonium broke out. Michael pondered his options. He was too far from the wall to reach it, even if he could find sufficient hand holds. If he tried to slide down the pipe, it might break off altogether and hurl him to the ground. Below him was only hard-pressed earth, without a single bush to break his fall. A broken neck would be the worst outcome, he supposed. An arm or leg — that was probably the best he could hope for.
He hung, motionless. Below him, men were scurrying round. And the women, too. They had found a large sheet and were opening it out directly below him to catch him if he fell. It was only thin — a tablecloth, perhaps — so it was unlikely to break his fall completely, but it was better than nothing. But now ladders were appearing, and being fitted together. Would it reach? It would not… but wait, another one appeared, was fitted on. It reached! Gently, inch by inch, the men below manoeuvred the ladder into position beside him. He stretched a hand, grasped it, held it tight… one foot transferred… then the other… he was safe! Swiftly, he descended to the ground to be engulfed by the crowd, who were laughing, relieved but teasing him about his misadventure.
“I believe I owe you all a round of drinks,” he said to a general cheer of approbation.
The butler appeared at the kitchen door, his face stern. “Whatever is going on? What is this, a holiday?”
“Cap’n Edgerton’s been breakin’ in to t’castle,” one of the grooms yelled.
“Not breakin’ in, exactly,” someone else said. “More like breakin’ t’water pipe.”
“Yes, I am afraid this is all my fault,” Michael said, as he dusted himself off. “I had better go and make my apologies to his lordship for damaging his castle.”
“Still, that was useful,” Sandy said. “At least ye know that no one got in that way.”
***
Walter woke suddenly, heart pounding. What had happened? Something had woken him, some sound. Not screams this time, thank God! But what was it?
The dogs. Distant barking, far below in the basement where they slept. Someone breaking in! The murderer had returned.
He threw on a robe, and this time stopped to light a candle. Then he opened the drawer of his bedside cabinet and took out the loaded pistol that he now kept handy, just in case.
Outside on the landing, all was quiet. Perhaps no one else had heard anything yet. He crept down the stairs to the half landing, where a display of armoury gleamed dully in the flickering candlelight. On either side, his grandmother’s monstrous Chinese urns, almost as tall as Walter, stood silent guard.
Down again to the great hall, the array of swords and pikes and maces on the walls like a ghostly army. Then down the service stairs to the basement, the barking becoming louder with every step. He could hear voices now, at least two distinct voices,in amongst the cacophony of canine displeasure. The scullery… that was where the disturbance was.
Walter burst in, to find a man in rough clothing crouched on a table, an island of safety in a sea of angry dogs, while the kitchen boy, eyes wide with fear, his hand shaking so hard he was in danger of snuffing out his candle, ineffectually tried to call the dogs to order. Seeing Walter, the dogs instantly quieted and ambled over to be stroked and petted.
Pointing the gun directly at the stranger, Walter said, “I hope you have a good explanation ready for the magistrate, fellow. Or perhaps I should just shoot you at once. Came back for another go, did you?”
Astonishingly, the man smiled, revealing a set of teeth that gleamed in the candlelight. “Captain Michael Edgerton at your service, sir. Engaged by Lord Rennington to investigate the murder of Mr Nicholson.”
“Really,” Walter said disbelievingly, the gun not wavering in the slightest.
“Really. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“I am Birtwell.”
“Then I beg your pardon for disturbing your slumber, my lord.”
“What are you doing in the scullery in the middle of the night, Captain? If youarea captain, that is. Royal Navy or mercantile?”
The teeth gleamed even more. “East India Company Army, my lord. Retired. Tattersall’s for a while, but now of Edgerton, Alexander and Associates, investigators of murders and other wickedness. As part of my investigation, I was discovering how easy it would be to break into the castle at night. The dogs are a very effective deterrent, however, and a man with a gun even more so. You look as if you know how to use it, too.”
“I am accounted a good shot,” Walter said, not taking his eyes off the fellow’s face.
