“Where are they?” I snarled.
“If you’re meanin’ the Holy Family, take yourself to a church, they’ll be glad to inform you. If it’s Charlie an’ his new sweetheart, you’ll find them tight as sardines in the boot of his car.”
Clive looked ready to choke. “Quiet!”
As if to punctuate him, thunder boomed over the house, rattling everything and everyone.
Riordan squinted up at him. “Friends in high places, have ye?” With a groan, he found his unsteady feet.
Agnes instinctively retreated behind her husband. “Clive . . . ”
“Stay right there,” Taylor ordered, reminding us he was armed.
“I’m no burglar, missus, not t’worry.” Riordan looked at me. “Don’t kid yourself, mate, I had a great pleasure in bustin’ you up, but it happens I’m here on me own business.”
“What business?” Taylor’s aim was steady. A man used to firearms.
Riordan rubbed the side of his head. “Me ears are ringing, but I’ve no time for that phone. It’s you”—he looked at Clive Latshaw—“I want a word with.”
Clive had a good poker-playing face, but not good enough. Riordan was the last person he wanted here, that was plain.
“Clive—do you know that man?” Agnes stared at him.
“Indeed he does, missus. Pleased to meet you. Shamus Riordan, me name is me game, spell it the same. Pardon me manners, but I’ve had a bad night. I want a word with your mister about me payment.”
“Who is he?”
Clive did his best. “He’s a man I hired to follow Mabel. It’s nothing important.”
He was desperate for her to take the hint. Mention of Mabel could bring out that she was the real owner of the Eye. Taylor might not care, but then again, he might.
“An’ paid well for it,” Riordan added. “Very well indeed from a man with holes in his shoes. Polish on top, holes on the bottoms, an’ I’ll not mention too loudly the shockin’ state of your heels. You had work for me, that’s all I care about. But I began wonderin’ how you got hold of so much lovely money, when it was clear you were in such need for yourself—”
Clive told him to shut up. I had to read his lips; the thunder drowned him out.
Despite the agony, I started to laugh, getting a collective glare from them. Perversely, I enjoyed the moment. It happens when the adrenaline’s running and certain oddities suddenly make sense.
“Would you let us in on the hilarity?” Riordan asked.
“You already got the joke.” I let the laughter run down. Continuing was too painful.
“I don’t consider it t’be all that amusin’.”
He wouldn’t. No one would.
It was hard to read Taylor’s eyes behind those wire glasses. My guess was that I’d said too much already. We were in dangerous waters.
Riordan started to speak, but I caught his eye and gave a fast wink, hoping the others would miss it and that he’d take the warning. If I got shot, I’d vanish. Riordan would bleed out and die. He gave a snort of contempt, muttered about “bloody Yankee Doodles,” and subsided, turning away.
Good man.
Another exchange of looks between Taylor and Clive. I pretended not to see, but Agnes had picked up on things. She backed off to watch them both, her eyes sharp and suspicious. Clive took charge, speaking slowly, his voice thick. “Mr. Taylor, as this has nothing to do with you, I think you should leave. If you would give me the loan of your gun, I can take care of this situation. I’ll return it later; I have your address.” Thinking it over, Taylor finally nodded, but didn’t move right away. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes. Clive extended a hand sideways toward him, but there was an unusual sluggishness to the action.
“I have . . . your address,” he repeated.
Taylor made no reply.
Agnes stepped forward and took the gun from Taylor’s hand.
Neither of the men protested; their faces had gone slack in what to me was a too-familiar dead-eyed stare.
She rounded on me and Riordan, scowling. “What am I going to do with you two?” she wanted to know.
One to one, the odds were in my favor. I pushed away the pain and concentrated on her.
But there was still some bad luck left in the barrel. Another lightning flash edged the curtains with white fire for a breathless moment. Thunder boomed seemingly right over the house. The lights failed.
Skunked again, dammit. At least when it came to hypnosis. But if the power stayed off long enough . . .
The parlor candle was far enough away to leave the dining room sufficiently dark. I went out like the lights, and for a few precious seconds the gray nothingness swept me from the weight and pain of physical burdens. It was a little bit of heaven, tempting me to linger. Alas, no.
When I came back, my arms worked just fine again; I was also right behind Agnes, grabbing for her gun. Taylor and Clive continued to stand in their tracks, oblivious as a couple of store-window mannequins. I caught a of glimpse of a gleeful Riordan grinning like a maniac in the face of all the impossibilities taking place.
Agnes put up a hell of a fight, screaming, clawing, hissing, kicking, and not letting go of the gun, not giving an inch as we danced around. With a ferocious twist, she broke free and fired at me, the gun’s roar matching the thunder for sheer eardrum-breaking sound.
At less than ten feet she missed, but you can do that if you’re excited and don’t know how to shoot.
However, even an excited, inexperienced shooter can get lucky. Time to leave.
I retreated in haste to the dining room. Riordan, no fool, was just ahead, scrambling toward the kitchen.
She fired again, screaming something abusive. We dashed toward the mudroom, jamming shoulders in the doorway, fighting to be the first out. Riordan slipped sideways and won, slamming through the back door into the rain with me at his heels.
He took off down the drive, presumably to reclaim his car. We should have tied and gagged him. He was too good an escape artist.
He looked back once, teeth white in the darkness. “Till the next round!” he yelled, then sprinted away.
Escott’s Nash was still there, the keys and his Webley on the front seat. Mabel and Escott were indeed inside the trunk, to tell by the muffled shouts and thumping, but they could wait.
I got the car started, shifted gears, and shot out from under the porte cochère. Rain once more pounded the roof with brutal force, but the heavy fall and general darkness would obscure the vehicle from Agnes, hopefully throwing off her aim. I didn’t stop to look.
When I judged the distance to be far enough, I cut the motor, vanished, and bee-lined my invisible way back to the house. Wind buffeted me, and the rain was a startling unpleasantness. I usually get that kind of quivering discomfort when sieving through solid walls. When it stopped, I made the reasonable assumption I was under shelter.
With great caution, I took on just enough solidity to get my bearings. Clive’s flashy coupe was in front of me. I let myself float up into a dim corner to watch.
In the few moments since Riordan and I escaped, Agnes had been busy.
Wearing hat and gloves, she emerged from the back door, the leather case with the money in one hand, a travel suitcase in the other. She tossed them into the passenger side of Clive’s coupe and hopped in herself. She was laughing, a free and easy sound of pure delight and triumph.
I half expected a fateful bolt of lightning to strike just then, but nothing happened. The storm seemed to be letting up. Agnes revved the motor, shifted gears, and roared off into the rain.
Escott had past experience at being locked in car trunks, so he was more sanguine about it than our client. That, or maybe he’d enjoyed being stuffed into a small space with a healthy young woman on top of him. I’d kept a straight face when I’d let them out, though they were rather badly rumpled.