The Bughouse Affair (A Carpenter and Quincannon Mystery Book 1) by Pronzini Bill & Muller Marcia

Author:Pronzini, Bill & Muller, Marcia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor Publishing Group
Published: 2013-01-08T04:00:00+00:00

17

QUINCANNON

Quincannon had no need to order the Englishman to cover the front door; Holmes immediately veered off in that direction. The Navy Colt and the dark lantern were both at the ready when Quincannon reached the rear porch. Somewhere inside, another door slammed. He ran up the steps to the rear entrance, thumbed open the lantern’s bull’s-eye lens, and shouldered his way through.

The thin beam showed him a utility porch, then an opening into a broad kitchen. His foot struck something as he started ahead; the light revealed it to be a wooden wedge, of the sort used to prop open doors. He shut the door and toed the wedge tightly between the bottom and the frame—a safeguard against swift escape that took only a clutch of seconds.

Two or three additional sounds reached his ears as he plunged ahead, none distinguishable or close by. The beam picked out an electric switch on the kitchen wall; he turned it to flood the room with light. Empty. Likewise an adjoining dining room.

His twitching nose picked up the acrid tang of burnt gunpowder. The odor led him into a central hallway, which he flooded with more electric light. Then he eased past two closed doors to a third at the far end, where another hallway intersected this one. The powder smell was strongest there.

Quincannon paused to listen.

Thick, crackling silence.

He moved ahead to where he could see along the intersecting hall, found it deserted, and stepped to the third door to try the latch. Locked from within. There was no key on this side.

He rapped sharply on the panel, called out, “Mr. Costain?”

No response.

“John Quincannon here. It’s safe for you to come out now.”

Again, no response.

More sounds came from the front of the house—a heavy dragging noise, as of a piece of furniture being moved.

“Costain?” Louder this time.

Silence from behind the door.

Movement at the corner of his eye swung Quincannon around and brought the Navy to bear on the intersecting hallway. The Englishman was but a short distance away, approaching as noiselessly as a cat stalking prey.

Quincannon lowered his weapon and extinguished the lantern. “A sign of either man?” he said as Holmes hurried up.

“None.”

“One or both must be on the other side of this door. It’s locked on the inside.”

“If the intruder is elsewhere and attempts to leave by the front door, he’ll first have to move a heavy oak chair. We’ll hear him.”

“I wedged the rear door shut for the same reason.”

Quincannon holstered the Navy, then backed off two steps and flung the full weight of his body against the door panel. This rash action succeeded only in bruising flesh, jarring bone and teeth. Holmes, who was standing with his head cocked in a listening attitude, made no remark. If he had, he would have gotten his ears blistered.

Grumbling to himself, Quincannon again backed off and then drove the flat of his booted foot against the panel above the latch. Two more kicks were necessary to splinter the wood, tear the locking mechanism loose, and send the door wobbling inward.

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