Devil Take The Hindmost

Chapter Twenty-Five

The crisp evening air on the hill above the city caused the edges of our breath to cloud, the billows faintly gilded by the feeble glow of an aged streetlamp.

"What a dump," Ty snorted derisively.

The structure was built from carved sandstone blocks and stolid brickwork and it possessed a solid roof and required no rope ladder to gain access. I could understand why he hadn't taken to it.

Our arrival had been unsubtle to an extreme degree. Ty's dented, mud-encrusted Land Rover Defender screeched around the blind corners of Tettenhall's backstreets at Warp Speed and now stood out like a Challenger tank among the assembled gleaming Mercedes and BMWs of the locals.

"Well, it's no tree house, I'll give you that," I answered softly. "But this is what generations of money and privilege get you."

"What's our angle here?" Ty cocked his head at me, reaching for the weighty brass door knocker without looking.

"We need answers," I retorted. "She must know something, but we won't be welcome here."

"Right-oh," Edge acknowledged, rapping out a brisk rat-a-tat-tat on the heavy oak door.

We stood on the step and waited, seconds dragged into a minute or more until we heard the faint tapping of leather soles on the floor tiles behind the door, then a click and we were lit with the dim light from an outside bulb.

Moments later, the door opened a crack and the stern face of Miriam Calhoun peered out at us.

She looked tired somehow, as if she had not had sufficient sleep since the last time I met her. Slowly, her face broke into the semblance of a smile. It was an expression as obviously fake and devoid of any life or deeper meaning as the cloth flowers gathering suspicious dust in a crematorium antechamber.

"I thought I told you not to return here?" she stated coolly. The muscles in her arm twitched and the door began to close.

Ty stepped forward nonchalantly and placed a boot on the threshold, which prevented the door from meeting the frame.

He gripped the edge, just above the lock and exerted inward pressure by straightening his arms, the biceps proud. Gently at first, but fraction-by-fraction, the door began to move back, Miriam's feet sliding across the tiles as she inevitably lost this reverse tug-of-war to a man much younger and incalculably physically stronger.

"Now, now, that's not very charitable!" Ty chided. "This is a charity, isn't it? We'd like to discuss a donation to the important work you do here."

With the opening sufficient, he stepped through into the forbidding interior of the Wyntham Estate, Miriam retreating before him, her eyes now wide with alarm.

"How kind of you to invite us in, Miriam. I think we would appreciate some answers," I slipped in after Edge and closed the door behind me. "Shall we talk in the drawing room?" I pointed past her to the end of the hallway.

"This is intolerable, I'll call the police!" Calhoun edged away from us, a faint quiver in her voice.

"Yes, excellent idea," I nodded. "Perhaps they would be interested in what we can tell them about what's in here?" I held up the leather case for the carriage clock augury and watched closely as a fleeting, but unmistakable flash of recognition darted across Miriam's eyes.

She recognised the carriage case even though she previously told me she had no knowledge of it.

"Oh, I don't think anyone would be interested in anything you have to say. This is a very respectable organisation, we make sizeable donations to various charities and good causes,"