Redhead (Department Z Book 2) by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey [Creasey, John]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Ipso Books
Published: 2015-09-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Mr Benjamin Cripps Confides

As the last vibration of that terrible shriek died away, Storm’s voice, no more than a whisper but plainly audible through the great hall, sighed through the unnerving darkness.

‘Have any of you men got a torch?’

Two voices, ghosts of their real selves but emphatic enough, answered affirmatively.

‘Trust me,’ asserted the easy-going Martin Best, whose casual attention to his clothes was more than countered by his general usefulness in filling his pockets with a host of gadgets likely to ‘come in handy some time’.

‘Call here,’ murmured Timothy Arran.

‘You stay where you are, Tim,’ said Storm quickly, shaking off the effect of that ghastly cry. ‘Granville, you come with me. Righteous and Best’ll come too. The others will stay with Tim, and for heaven’s sake keep your ears open and your eyes peeled. There’s an outside chance that it’s a stunt to get us all to the back of the house.’

With the bright beam of Martin Best’s torch to guide them Storm, Granville, Dane, and Best moved towards the servants quarters. The eeriness of the great hall, the sudden change from brilliance to abysmal darkness and the awful, quivering horror of that one cry gave them all a chilled uncertainty as they moved.

The white moon of the light shone on the handle of the door leading to the passage in front of the servants quarters. Storm turned it softly and stepped into the gloom, followed quickly by the others, their cold hands gripping the steel of their guns.

Storm tried the wall-switch in the large, bare kitchen, but nothing happened.

‘The main switch has gone,’ muttered Best, the only one likely to have sufficient technical knowledge to put the trouble right – always providing the trouble was accidental; the possibility of intentional damage loomed uncomfortably large.

But who had sent that terror-stricken cry quivering through the night?

‘Better go straight to the electric plant,’ said Storm as they stepped towards the door leading into the courtyard. ‘Do you keep it locked, Granville?’

‘I don’t know,’ muttered Granville, keeping his voice steady with an effort. ‘Smithers, the under-gardener, looks after it.’

As Storm unlocked the kitchen door, all of them were chillingly aware that somewhere beyond them would be the explanation of that awful shriek. What was it? Who was it?

The courtyard, lit with the eerie grey streaks of dawn, shewed bare and clean as they stepped on to the flagstones, turning towards the small, brick-built shed which sheltered the dynamo and electric plant of the Grange. Best switched off his light.

‘The door’s open,’ muttered Righteous Dane.

Storm went first, taking the torch from Best. As he directed the sudden stream of brilliant white light towards the inside of the shed his lips tightened and the glint in his eyes was like steel.

Sprawling across the floor of the power-house was the horribly twisted body of a man, a man dressed in a suit of pyjamas which was revealed by the open folds of a great-coat obviously flung round him as he had left his bedroom in some emergency and alarm.

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