Storm of Bells

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?'