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No one so much as blinked as Laura
moved farther into the room. "There you are, dear,"
Margaret said. "What on earth happened to you? Remington
was becoming quite worried."
"I'm sorry," Laura said, sitting down beside the woman.
"I decided to do some exploring and got lost."
"Lost? What were you exploring?" Margaret asked.
"The secret passageway," Laura announced, looking at
each of the cousins as she spoke.
"How on earth did you ever find an entrance to the thing?"
Quinn wanted to know, frowning deeply.
"Actually, Quinn," Bridget said softly, "I told
her about them earlier." Her pale eyes moved to Laura. "But
I never thought you'd go exploring them on your own, Laura. The
tunnels can be quite dangerous if you don't know them."
"Believe me, I found that out," Laura told her.
Margaret placed a hand over hers. "Well, you're here now,
and safe, and that's what matters," she commented, sending
Patrick O'Herlihy a look that spurred him into action.
The solicitor cleared his throat noisily. "Excuse me, but
is your Lordship ready to proceed now?" he asked, indicating
the items on the nearby table.
Silently fuming over the failure of his plan to smoke out the
killer, Remington nodded. "By all means, Mr. O'Herlihy. Let's
proceed."
Within a few minutes, the ceremony was finished, and Margaret
asked Quinn to refill everyone's glass. "Another toast,"
she offered. "To the new Lord of Crayston Manor. Health and
long life, and happiness."
The toast was echoed by the others, then O'Herlihy put his glass
on the table. "If you will excuse me, I must be getting back
to the city. My wife is expecting me for supper. Congratulations,
your Lordship. And if you have need of any assistance, I hope
you won't hesitate to call on me."
"Have no doubt of that, Mr. O'Herlihy," Remington assured
the man. "Thank you," he said, shaking the man's hand
before turning back to his family.
Bridget turned to Laura. "I suppose you found the entry to
the passage in your room," she said.
"Yes, I did. Beside the fireplace, just as you said it was.
I left the door open, thinking to just go in and have a look and
then return to the room, but I wasn't very far down the corridor
when the door closed behind me. My candle blew out, and I couldn't
find my way back."
"It's a wonder you didn't fall down the stairs and injure
yourself," John told her. "Those things are devilishly
steep and dangerous."
"Especially when you're being followed," Laura agreed.
Bridget's eyes widened. "Someone else was in there as well?"
"How else would the door have gotten closed?" Laura
asked.
"The latch mechanisms are ancient," Quinn pointed out.
"It could have simply closed on its own."
"I heard footsteps behind me," Laura told him.
"You're not accusing one of us, I hope, Laura?" Sheila
asked. "I've never been in those tunnels. I doubt I could
find the entrance if I had to." She shivered. "Just
looking into the thing gave me the chills. So dark and eerie."
"I'm sure she's doing no such thing," Margaret insisted.
"It was probably one of the servants. I've been lead to believe
that they use the tunnel from time to time for various reasons."
"Someone followed me," Laura said again. "And when
I tried to corner them at the bottom of the first set of stairs,
he - or she- twisted my arm behind my back and pushed me to the
floor, then tried to strangle me."
"Are you certain you didn't simply fall down the stairs?"
John asked.
"I know what the feel of someone's hands around my throat
feels like, John," Laura told him.
"Then how are you here now? Why would this person have stopped
if his - or her- intention was to kill you?"
"I let my attacker think I had lost consciousness,"
Laura explained. "I think whoever it was planned to come
back and finish the job later, after the ceremony was over."
"How did you get out of the tunnel?" Bridget asked.
"I remember getting lost in them as a child - John finally
heard me crying and opened a panel to rescue me."
"I stumbled onto a release latch," Laura lied. "As
I was feeling my way down the wall."
"I suppose I should have sealed that thing up years ago,"
Margaret said with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry you went through
that, my dear. But you weren't seriously injured, were you?"
Remington placed a hand on Laura's shoulder - her uninjured one
- as she answered. "No. I'll recover."
"I hope that will teach you not to go exploring on your own,"
John said. "If you want a tour of the tunnels, I'll be glad
to show you through them."
"You're familiar with the tunnels, then?" Remington
asked.
"It was a good hiding place for a frightened little boy,
Cousin," John explained. "I spent a lot of time exploring
the tunnels - always with a good torch, however. Candles are too
apt to go out - as you learned, Laura."
"Hmm," Remington agreed. "I might take you up on
your offer," he said.
"Just say when," John told him.
Laura looked at Mildred. "Didn't you mention something earlier,
Mildred, about needing to place a telephone call?"
Mildred looked lost for a moment, before remembering the prescription
Laura had found. "Oh, yes. Thanks for reminding me, Mrs.
Steele." She put her glass beside the others. "Excuse
me."
"Use the phone in the study, Mildred," Remington told
her as she left. Taking Laura's hand, he said, "You need
to rest after your experience," he suggested. "Why don't
we go upstairs until dinner?"
Margaret rose as he drew Laura to her feet. "That's a good
idea, Harry," his aunt agreed. "I need to rest as well,
I think."
"I'll walk you up, Aunt," Bridget offered, joining the
old woman. She smiled at Laura. "I'm really glad you're all
right, Laura. I'd hate it if something had happened to you because
I was silly enough to tell you about the tunnel."
"Laura tends to rush in where angels fear to tread,"
Remington noted as they followed the two women up the stairs.
"He's right," Laura agreed, "It wasn't your fault."
At the top, Bridget and Margaret continued on, but Remington pulled
Laura aside to watch the foyer as Quinn came from the salon and
left the house. "I'm going for a ride," he told Sheila,
who clung to his arm before he shook her off. Sheila watched the
door close behind him, then turned toward the stairs, causing
Remington and Laura to draw back into the shadowy protection of
the gallery as she passed on her way to her room.
Laura tugged her husband's arm, pointing toward their own room,
and he followed her inside, closing the door behind them. "So
much for my fool proof plan, eh?" he said. "I was certain
that the killer would do something to give him or herself away."
"Don't worry, Remington," Laura assured him. "Whoever
it is heard me call out to you at the Tower, as I suspected they
had. I'm betting that the prescription that Mildred's checking
on will give us some clue."
Remington looked thoughtfully at the fireplace. "How do you
open this thing?" he asked.
Laura pointed to the carved flower. "Turn that," she
said.
As the panel opened, Remington grinned. "Ingenious."
He looked inside. "Too bad we don't have a flashlight to
take inside, or I'd suggest we see where it ends." He turned
the flower again, and the panel closed. His eyes narrowed. "You
said that you hit the killer with a candlestick," he said.
"I'm pretty sure I did. I heard it connect before it was
pulled from my hand."
He picked up the mate to the silver candlestick she'd taken into
the tunnel, checking its heft. "This would do some damage.
Do you have any idea where you hit your attacker?"
It was Laura's turn to frown. "It's hard to tell. It was
dark," she reminded him, thinking over her actions. "The
killer was coming down the stairs," she said, placing him
at in position, then pretending she was standing beside him, against
a wall, the candlestick held up above her head. She turned toward
him, bringing it down with a great deal less force than she had
earlier. The candlestick connected with his shoulder. "The
killer was shorter than you are."
"So that lets Quinn out," he said. "He and I are
the same height." He took the candlestick from her. "Whoever
it was has to be in some pain from that blow. Shoulder or arm,
perhaps."
"We can't very well ask to inspect them for bruises and contusions,"
Laura pointed out.
"Maybe we won't have to," Remington said thoughtfully.
*****
Mildred hung up the telephone, reading over the information she'd
gotten from the pharmacist in Dublin before getting up from the
desk and starting for the door. This was something she needed
to tell Mr and Mrs. Steele. Opening the door, she found John O'Riley
there.
"Mr. O'Riley," she said, putting the paper into her
pocket. "Did you need something?"
"Just thought Remington might have come back down here,"
he said, peering past her into the study.
"No. He's upstairs with Mrs. Steele," Mildred told him.
"I'm on my way up there - I can tell him you were looking
for him, if you'd like."
"That's all right. If you don't mind my askin' what was so
important about that telephone call that it had t'be made now?"
Mildred shrugged. "Oh, I just needed to check up on the office,"
she told him. "Mrs. Steele was worried about a client that
she was expecting to call the agency, and . . ."
"You're a poor liar, Miss Krebs," he told her.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. O'Riley," Mildred said in
an offended tone, "I have to go and see Mr and Mrs. Steele."
She was afraid for a moment that he wasn't going to let her pass
him, but then he stepped aside, allowing her to move quickly down
the dark hallway to the foyer and up the stairs.
She knew he was watching her from beside the study doorway, and
kept moving.
*****
Remington rubbed Laura's aching shoulder, trying to ease the pain.
She'd taken off her blouse and skirt, and was sitting beside him
on the love seat. "Feel better?" he asked, lowering
his head to touch his lips to the still darkening bruises on her
neck.
"Hmm," she moaned softly. "Feels wonderful. You've
got magic fingers, Remington."
"Glad you finally noticed," he said, his lips moving
to her shoulder as he hands moved to her sides, sliding forward.
"I noticed," Laura assured him.
"Don't ever do something like that again, Laura," he
said softly, turning her into his arms. "When I think about
what could have happened today . . ."
She placed a hand over his lips. "Don't. It didn't happen.
And I promise to be more careful from now on."
"Good. Because if I lost you, nothing else would matter,"
he said, his lips almost on hers. The knock on the door caused
his eyes to widen. "You don't think . . ."
"I tried to tell you," Laura said. "Who is it?"
she called.
"It's me, Mrs. Steele," Mildred replied.
Remington shook his head as Laura got up and went toward the bedroom
to get a robe. He opened the door, letting a nervous Mildred into
the suite. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You look
as if you've seen a ghost."
"No ghost, Mr. Steele," Mildred told him. "Just
your cousin John."
"John?" Laura asked, returning as she pulled the tie
of Remington's robe more tightly around her.
Mildred noticed Laura's attire, and her cheeks reddened. "I
did it again, didn't I?" she asked. "I'm sorry, I .
. ."
"It's all right, Mildred," Laura said, putting an arm
around her and leading her toward the love seat. "Tell us
what happened."
"Well, I was in the study. I'd just gotten off the phone
with a pharmacist in Dublin, and was on my way up here. When I
opened the door, there he was."
"John," Remington said, standing at the fireplace.
Mildred nodded. "He acted strange. Wanted to know who I had
called. I told him I'd called to check on the messages at the
Agency, but he accused me of lying. For a minute, I was afraid
he was going to physically stop me from leaving the room. Then
he stepped aside and watched me climb the stairs."
"Did you get the information on the prescription?"
"Sure did," Mildred said, handing her the paper. "It's
a mind control drug. The pharmacist said that he'd never heard
of it being prescribed outside of the military and other similar
organizations."
"Mind control?"
"Give someone enough of this, and they'll believe anything
you tell them. It works like a depressant, keeping the subject
calm, easily controlled."
Laura frowned. "Why would Bridget be taking something like
that?" she wondered.
"The question is, where did she get it?" Remington asked.
"I can't believe John would deliberately give his sister
something like that."
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Laura agreed. "I need
another look at that pill bottle," she decided. "Do
you think you can get Bridget out of her room for a few minutes?"
she asked.
Remington sighed, knowing he wasn't going to like what she had
in mind.
To Be Continued. . .