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impatience tighten his features. “You’re sure you wouldn’t care for a brandy? It’s damn cold out there.”
    “No, we had better be on to the next house. It is going to be a long night. They’re forecasting an ice storm before dawn.” The man turned abruptly at the door. He bent down and pulled a pale scrap from the carpet.
    Ian cursed silently when he saw the piece of wet fabric. He remembered that thin cotton. It must have torn from her dress. Worse yet, there was a dark bloodstain at one corner.
    The inspector glanced at Ian. “Yours, Mr. Woods?”
    Ian gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m afraid it is. I hurt myself earlier. I was out shooting and I slipped in the rain. I ended up shooting myself in the boot. Damned embarrassing. Didn’t want to mention it, Inspector. Nothing a man wants to boast about, you know.” He reached down to his leg and winced. “Hurts like hell, if you want to know the truth of it.” He gave another embarrassed laugh.
    The inspector nodded slowly and slipped the piece of cloth into his pocket. “As you say, it’s nothing you would want to brag about.” His eyes moved to his unsmiling companion. “But since she is a dangerous criminal, you wouldn’t mind if we had a look around would you? Through the back rooms. Upstairs too.”
    “Of course. Be my guest. But the abbey is completely deserted. Only myself and the old butler are in residence.”
    In a quick jerk of the wrist, the man sent his companion forward, out into the hallway. The man moved silently back to the kitchen.
    Ian sat down on the edge of the big mahogany desk and reached down, triggering a silent alarm. Marston would see that the woman was out of sight.
    Ian leaned down to pour a liberal measure of sherry into a crystal glass. “Take your time, Inspector. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here and nurse my drink. My toes have begun to throb most damnably.”
    The man gave a look of distaste, dismissing Ian as an utter fool.
    That had been Ian’s intention.
    He did not follow when the officer moved out into the hall. There was no reason. Ian had already made certain that the abbey’s security cameras were functioning perfectly. They would tell him exactly what he needed to know.

     
    When footsteps rang down the stairs ten minutes later, Ian ran a hand through his hair, leaving it bristling and unruly. He tugged his jacket askew and splashed sherry over the old tweed.
    Perfect. Now he was the very picture of a drunkard well into his cups.
    “All finished, are you? No devilish felons discovered in the Long Gallery, I hope.” Ian gave a rough laugh. “I wouldn’t mind a little company tonight, as a matter of fact.”
    “Not this kind of company, you wouldn’t.” The officer swept a dismissing glance as Ian sagged drunkenly against the wall.
    “Of course. Quite right. Wouldn’t care to be cut up into pieces in my bed. That is what she does? Uses a knife?”
    “Hardly. Poison is more her style. I’d be careful what you drink tonight, Mr. Woods.” The inspector pulled his wet raincoat on. “Be sure to call me if you have anything to report. We will be in the area.”
    Somehow he made it sound like a threat.
    As they moved to the door, Ian moved awkwardly after them, one hand to the wall in a further display of inebriation. “Well then, stay dry. Or as dry as you can. One hell of a storm, no mistake about it.”
    The inspector turned back. He seemed thoughtful. “You say there’s no one else here. Only you and the old butler?”
    “That’s right.” Ian felt the hairs stir along the back of his neck.
    “You mentioned a dog. Where is he?”
    “Oh, I expect he’s out in the storm. Likes to hunt. I give him free rein of the grounds.”
    The inspector nodded slowly. “Good security.” His hand moved to his pocket. Ian moved back, seeming to stumble, and his hand slid to the Berretta behind his back.
    Light shone on the driveway. A car motor growled and came to a stop. Light footsteps raced up the