Chapter 35: 35. Cracking Dalgliesh

Crack!

'Psht! Don't walk so heavily!'

'The weight of my feet is difficult to alter, Sahiba.'

'Well, try!'

Pushing aside one of the branches ahead, I peered through the foliage. Beyond, the back wall of Dalgliesh's manor house rose into the sky. It wasn't nearly as majestic as Mr Ambrose's furniture emporium. Apparently, Dalgliesh had had to acquire a place in a hurry, and hadn't been able to find one that suited his taste for luxury. However, there was one of Dalgliesh's needs that was undoubtedly being fulfilled by this place: security.

The windows on the ground level of the house all had thick iron bars. The doors, made of oak and reinforced with steel, seemed equally sturdy. Guards were positioned all around the house, armed with rifles and dressed in the uniform of the presidency armies, Dalgliesh's personal lapdogs.

We had only been able to sneak this close to the house by staying in the cover of the trees. However, the woods didn't extend all the way to the back of the house, and, sooner or later, we would have to step out into the open. A move that, under current conditions, would be pure suicide.

Well, hopefully, something would soon happen to change that.

'Where is he?' I hissed. Reaching into my pocket, I let my watch snap open. 'He's late!'

'Your chronometer must be malfunctioning. The Sahib always comes punctually.'

'Really? I can remember this one time when we were in bed together, and—'

Karim's outraged croak was interrupted by the sound of a doorbell from around the house. Instantly, the guards' grip on their rifles tightened and they turned towards the front of the building. Moments later, I heard the sound of a door opening.

'Sir, may I help you?' The butler. Only a butler could have a voice that sounded so thoroughly starched. 'Would you like me—'

'Is your master at home?' Mr Ambrose's voice cut through the butler's words.

'My master?'

'Lord Dalgliesh, right?'

'How do you know that? No one is supposed to know of His Lordship's presence!'

'I know! I've known all along! I'm Mr Ridgeway!'

'Ridgeway? I'm afraid I don't recognize that name, Sir.'

'You must be joking! His Lordship never mentioned me? Not once?'

'No.'

'Bloody hell! I can't deal with these kinds of delays. Not now of all times!'

'Why? What's the hurry, Sir?'

'What is the hurry, you ask? This! This is the hurry!'

I heard a gasp from the butler. And I knew exactly why. I knew exactly what Mr Ambrose, alias Mr Ridgeway, was holding out to the butler. A certain handkerchief covered with bloodstains.

'That's His Lordship's handkerchief!'

'Correct.'

'And that's blood!'

'Your powers of observation are remarkable.'

'You! You hurt His Lordship?'

'Don't be a fool!' His voice conveyed the ice-cold disdain that only Mr Rikkard Ambrose was capable of producing. 'Even if I had the power to, do you really think if I'd dared to injure His Lordship, I would show up on his doorstep afterward?'

'N-no, of course not, Sir.'

I nodded. Of course not. He hadn't needed to harm His Lordship. That's what his lovely fiancée was for.

'I was on my way to deliver a message to His Lordship when I found this on the road, next to marks of a scuffle!'

'I-is that really blood?'

'No, it's tomato sauce. Of course it's blood! Gather the guards, man! We have no time to waste!'

'But His Lordship gave strict orders to guard the house and—'

'—and do you think His Lordship will be grateful for your service when you let him be kidnapped and killed while you and his men sit here, guarding an empty house?'

'Well...no, Sir.'

'No indeed! Now get your men together! Chop chop! It might not be too late to catch up with them!'

'Yes, Sir, right away, Sir! Captain Bryant!'

Heavy footsteps thudded towards the front of the house. Moments later, a sharp, military voice cut into the conversation. 'Yes? What is it?'

In quick, short words, Mr 'Ridgeway' and the butler explained the situation. Seconds later, whistles and commands echoed through the air, and the guards at the back of the house rushed around the corner, their weapons drawn.

'Now?' Karim hissed.

'Not yet. Wait!' I held up my hand. From around the house came the tinkling of tackle, then the pounding of hooves, slowly fading into the distance.

'Now!'

We dashed towards the hedge that surrounded the property, trying to keep our heads low, just in case some of the guards had stayed behind. If the situation hadn't been serious, it would have been quite amusing to watch Karim trying to keep his head, or any other part of him, low. But right at this instant...

Pressing against the hedge, I slowly edged up until my eyes were just above the foliage.

'It's clear! No guards anywhere in sight.'

I gestured for Karim to help me up. Interlacing his fingers, he formed a stirrup for me. Over the years, I'd had plenty of opportunities to step on gentlemen's feet—but chances to trample on men's hands had been few and far between. With a grim grin, I grabbed hold of Karim's shoulder and hoisted myself up. The twigs and thorns of the hedge stung through my dress as I rolled over the top and landed on the other side. Only seconds later, Karim landed with a heavy thud beside me.

'Check the windows!' I hissed and, wonder of wonders, he obeyed my orders.

Turning back to me, he shook his head. 'No guards inside either.'

'Let's get to the door!'

We sidled along the wall until we stood beside the door. Fishing the ring of the keys out of my pocket, I rammed the first one into the keyhole. It didn't fit. Darn! The next one. And the next.

'Hurry!' Karim growled.

'As if you could do this faster with your salami fingers!'

'You...!'

I threw him a grin. 'It really sucks that I'm the boss's fiancée, doesn't it? It means you'll never be able to strangle me.'

'That,' Karim told me, his beard bristling, 'is still open for discussion.'

Wasn't he a dear?

The keyhole apparently thought so, too. The next key slid easily inside. I turned it, and the door clicked open.

I swallowed. Dalgliesh's house. Not that it was my first time breaking into one of his places. And I knew he wasn't even there. I had put him out of commission myself, for heaven's sake! Still—up until now, whenever going up against Dalgliesh, I had always had Mr Ambrose at my side. Now, he was nowhere in sight. And while the guards out here were gone, I had no idea who or what awaited me in there.

'Karim?'

'Yes, Sahiba?'

There wasn't a trace of antagonism left in his voice. I loved him for that.

'You'll keep an eye out, won't you?'

One of his big paws reached out and squeezed my shoulder.

'I swear I shall protect you with my life, Sahiba.'

I smiled. 'Your sabre will do. Let's go.'

I pushed open the door.

The hallway beyond was as empty as it was ostentatious. Plush carpets covered the floor. From the dark, wood-panelled walls, stern ancestors—none of whom, I was sure, were in any way related to Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh—gazed down upon the intruders.

Farther down the corridor, around the corner, the floor creaked. I stiffened. One finger flew up to my lips, and my eyes met Karim's. He nodded. Drawing his sabre, he sidled past me towards the noise, pressed tightly against the wall. Following his example on the other side of the hallway, I peered around the corner, and...

Blast!

I had hoped that the house might be empty. Apparently, it was not to be. Up ahead, a man in livery was heading down the corridor. I should probably have guessed. The guards had gone out to search for Dalgliesh. The servants in the house wouldn't have been taken along.

Too bad for the servants.

The man ahead opened a door and stepped through. It closed behind him with a click. I gestured to Karim and pointed to the first door on our left. Moving to it with an astonishing lack of noise, the big bodyguard pressed his ear against the wood, swiftly peered through the keyhole—then straightened and gave me the thumbs-up sign. Nodding, I joined him at the door.

'On the count of three,' I whispered. 'In case you missed it, and someone is in there after all, you make sure he doesn't make a noise, understood?'

The only reply was a nod.

'One...two...three!'

The door flew open. Karim dashed into the room, his eyes flicking from corner to corner—in vain. No one was inside. Carefully, I closed the door behind me.

'What now, Sahiba?' Karim enquired. 'What exactly are we looking for?'

I remembered the words between Mr Ambrose and myself just before he'd left the coach.

'There's just one thing I don't understand...' Glancing down at the ring of keys, I frowned. 'Just how do you know this key ring leads to what you're looking for? They look like nothing special.'

'Really? Have a look at this.' Reaching out, he tapped one of the smaller keys. Engraved in the metal, I noticed the tiny words Ellis, Smithson & Co.

'Who are Ellis, Smithson & Co?'

'Two very rich people.' And to judge by the look on his face, whatever their firm did, he didn't own any shares. 'They're locksmiths, specializing in custom-made safes for nobles and the rich. Most of their safes cost more than what people put inside. If there's an Ellis, Smithson & Co in Dalgliesh's house, you can bet that whatever is inside is worth taking!'

'A safe.' I met Karim's eyes. 'We're looking for a safe. And besides that, anything we can use against Dalgliesh.'

Karim's eyes were immediately drawn to two big, crossed medieval swords hanging on the wall.

'Use against him without being hanged for homicide,' I clarified.

He looked severely disappointed.

'Think letters, secret documents, orders to commit illegal actions.' I met his eyes. 'I'm sure Dalgliesh has plenty of less-than-honourable ventures going on in India, some of which he would not like to have exposed.'

Suddenly, Karim didn't look quite so disappointed anymore. His eyes glittered darkly. 'You can count on me, Sahiba. If there is something like that in this house, I will find it.'

'Excellent. Now, first of all...' I looked around the pink room with the plush, dainty furniture. 'I assume documents would be most likely to be kept in Dalgliesh's study. Call me Miss Gender Prejudice, but this doesn't look like Dalgliesh's headquarters.'

'Agreed.'

With sharp eyes, I examined the room. 'This must be the ladies' back parlour or the drawing room or something. Let me think...if this manor is laid out anything like a normal house, the bedrooms are upstairs, so we can forget about the staircase. The kitchens and the lavatory, along with the servant quarters, will be at the back of the house, far out of the way. The better rooms will be located at the front, with a view.' I glimpsed a mental image of Dalgliesh, posing in a pretentious office with tall, towering windows. A view. A view to impress. I nodded. 'All right, that's it. That way!' Jabbing my finger at the nearest door, I started forward. 'We've got to go south. The rooms with the view are always to the south. That's where Dalgliesh's study will be.'

'That's east, Sahiba.'

'Oh.'

I hesitated, glancing from left to right—and finally to Karim. I gave him an intense stare, not saying anything. I'd learned from the best.

'That way, Sahiba.' Karim pointed to another door.

'I knew that!'

'Certainly, Sahiba.'

We headed (hopefully) southwards, through another parlour and a library. Peeking out of the door, Karim checked the way ahead.

'And?' I hissed.

'Another corridor, Sahiba. Leading south. It has lots of doors.'

Doors. Doors meant possibilities for others to interrupt us. Possibilities to be discovered. Damn!

We've got to take the chance.

'Let's go. I'll keep a lookout forward. You guard our backs.'

He nodded. Moving aside, he let me slip by, out into the corridor. Pulling my revolver out, I swiftly made my way down the corridor, pressed against the wall. At every door, I stopped to press my ear against the wood. No movement. No noise. I moved on to the next door, and the next door, and the—

From somewhere behind me came the creak of hinges.

I whirled. By the time I'd managed to turn, Karim had already pounced on the unfortunate cook who had stepped out into the corridor and had him in a headlock. An unfortunate situation for the servant, considering Karim's arm was thicker than the man's head.

'What now, Sahiba?' Karim enquired. 'Shall I twist his head off?'

'Grrk!' said the cook. 'Gnnk ssk!'

'Um...I don't think so.' Lowering my gun, I slowly approached Karim's captive. My eyes met his. 'Would you like to not be strangled?'

The cook started to nod energetically—then changed his mind when his face started to turn blue and nodded more gently.

'Excellent! Very well indeed. You see? We're already in agreement. Now, you wouldn't be averse to showing a poor, lost lady the way, would you?'

The cook shook his head. Fortunately, horizontal movement was much less restricted.

'How nice. How about showing me the way to Lord Dalgliesh's study, then?'

The cook eyes widened, and again he shook his head, his hair flying from right to left and back again.

'Oh. And we were getting along so well!'

Karim tightened his grip. The poor cook's face started to turn the colour of cherry and blueberry pie.

'Now, now, Karim. Be gentle with our friend. You'd like us to be gentle, wouldn't you?'

'Grk! Flnk!'

'Excellent! Now, why don't you show me the way? Then we'll...put you gently to sleep, and when you're found, you'll look like a brave defender of your lord's home and hearth. How about that?'

The cook hesitated for a moment—then extended his arm, pointing at a door almost at the end of the corridor.

'Your cooperation is appreciated. Karim?'

Letting go with one arm, Karim grabbed his sabre, raised it pommel-first, and brought the hard metal knob down on the cook's head with a crack. The man slumped to the ground, unmoving.

I sent Karim a reproachful look. 'I said gently.'

His brow furrowed. 'His head is still attached, isn't it?'

I decided that here and now was not the time to explain semantics to a living mountain. Hurrying down the corridor, I peeked through the door the cook had indicated. And yes—it was a study. A sumptuous, luxurious one. As for whose it was? Well, the ginormous portrait of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh on the opposite wall could count as a hint, in my opinion.

Most important of all—there was a safe.

'Quick!' I waved at Karim. 'Get him in here!'

Grabbing the unconscious cook by one leg, Karim dragged him into the room. Kicking shut the door behind him, he tore a curtain off a nearby window, rolled the man up like a beef roulade and dumped him in a corner of the room. You had to love how he always was so kind and courteous.

I marched straight over to the safe. Eyes narrowed, I leaned forward to examine it, but...damn! The markings of the manufacturer didn't match those on the key. But then again...a safe containing top secret, dangerous documents, just out in the open?

Dalgliesh was many things, but stupid he was not. This had to be a decoy. And if there was a decoy, the real thing had to be somewhere.

'Hm...' Frowning, I looked around the room. 'Where could Lord Dalgliesh be hiding important documents?'

I glanced down at the carpet. Lord Dalgliesh liked to trample on anything and everything, so...why not?

'Help me, will you?'

Grabbing one corner of the Oriental carpet, I tugged. Karim followed suit, and soon we had rolled up the entire thing. Karim knelt, starting to tap against the floor, checking for hollow spaces.

'Nothing on my end, Sahiba. How about you?'

I tapped my fists against the floor. 'Nothing here, either.'

We continued examining the floor. Then, Karim started rummaging through the various cabinets and snatched anything remotely of interest, while I began to go through Dalgliesh's desk. There was a locked drawer which momentarily piqued my interest—but it was a simple lock that was as easy to break as it would have been to open with a key. Inside were only a few bills and notes and the report on the estate's finances.

'Bloody hell!' I punched the desktop. 'There has to be something here! Anything! I know Dalgliesh. He wouldn't trust his grandmother with his secrets. They have to be within his reach.' My eyes roamed around the room. 'But where would a man like him put them? Where—'

I froze, my eyes suddenly drawn to the big portrait above the hearth.

No.

No, it couldn't be this easy, could it? Not even Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh could be so egocentric as to use that old cliché of a hiding place, surely.

Oh yes, said a little voice at the very back of my mind. He can.

Rushing forward, I grabbed the painting with both hands and tugged. It swung to the side, revealing—

Nothing.

Not a bloody thing, except a stretch of flowery wallpaper.

'Darn! I was so sure!' I punched the portrait, hard, wishing it were its subject.

Thomp!

I stiffened—then punched the painted Dalgliesh in the face once more, harder.

Thomp!

'It's not really him, Sahiba,' Karim told me carefully, in a 'let's talk the crazy woman off the ledge' voice. 'He isn't really here, you kn—'

'Silence!'

Stepping aside, I delivered a hard punch to the wall.

Thud!

Turning back to the portrayed, I delivered another strike. It produced the same thumping sound as before. A distinctly hollow sound.

'Hand me a knife, Karim!'

'I can understand your feelings, Sahiba, but it's just a portrait. It won't do any good to—'

I threw him a look that shut his mouth. Wordlessly, he reached below his jacket and pulled out a knife. He handed it to me hilt-first.

Taking the weapon, I marched back towards the painting of Dalgliesh standing proudly in front of a ship, and smiled. Just because this wasn't the real Dalgliesh didn't mean I couldn't enjoy it.

Hard and fast, I stabbed the knife into Dalgliesh's groin.

Or at least I tried to.

Clang! Thomp!

'Ow!'

The knife collided with something hard and, tearing a large gap in the canvas, slid off to the side. Stumbling, I landed on the floor, my knees ramming into the hardwood. But it was worth it. Nothing remained of His Lordship's lumbar regions but a big, gaping hole. And beyond the hole—iron. Hard, black, cast iron.

'Quick! Help me!'

Jumping up, I grabbed hold of one side of the painting and tore. Karim joined me on the other side and, without delay, we stripped away the canvas, revealing the cast-iron door below. At the very left, just where Dalgliesh's hand had been a moment earlier, was a keyhole, underneath which were emblazoned a few small, but nonetheless significant words: Ellis, Smithson & Co.

Not behind the portrait—inside the portrait! Sneaky bastard!

Heart pounding, I pulled the ring of keys out of my pocket and looked for the key in question. Keeping my fingers crossed, I rammed it into the keyhole and turned.

Click!

Reaching for the tiny keyhole, I slipped my fingernail inside. There was no handle or other way to open this slim, insidious thing. Cautiously, I pulled and slowly, the metal door began to swing open.

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No time for an author's note today, I'm afraid! I'm up to my neck in editing work ;-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob