Wait Until Midnight

THIRTY

Adam went down the broad marble steps in front of Florence Stotley's elegant town house and found himself con-fronted by a wall of fog and night. Gas lamps glowed in front of the elegant front doors that lined the street, but for the most part they provided balls of useless, glaring light that reflected eerily off the mist.

Earlier in the evening he had noticed the dense vapor gathering in the streets. Aware that the stuff would slow traffic, he had elected to walk to Florence's address.

At the foot of the steps he turned and started back in the direction he had come, relying on the secret web of hidden walks, lanes and alleys that constituted his private mental map of the city.

Now and then the shadowy shapes of tentatively moving carriages and hansom cabs rattled past. Figures came and went like wraiths in the thick mist. They appeared briefly silhouetted against a flaring gas lamp and then vanished, leaving only the echoes of footsteps.

Halfway across a small park in a quiet square it occurred to him that he was not all that far from Corley Lane. It was just going on ten o'clock. Caroline had mentioned earlier n the day that she intended to write tonight. Perhaps she would like to hear about his visit to Florence Stotley.

It was a transparent excuse to call upon her. Then again, he did not actually need a good excuse, he decided. After all, they had embarked upon an affair. That gave him certain privileges.

In any event, there would be no harm in walking past her little house tonight. If he saw lights in the windows, he would knock. If not, he would continue on his way.

He moved silently along a tiny walk that separated two rows of town houses, cut through another park and started along a narrow street.

A short time later, he ducked into a crooked lane. The stones of the darkened buildings that loomed over the pas-sage dated from medieval times. It was a route he had used often enough in his younger days when he had come to this part of the city to sell his wares.

The all-too-familiar shiver of ghostly electricity touched the back of his neck. A second later he caught the unmistakable scrape of shoe leather on pavement behind him.

As startling incidents went, this was a particularly interesting one.

He kept moving, not altering his stride or giving any other indication that he knew he was being followed.

Several of the doorways along the lane had been built with deep vestibules and entranceways. The pools of darkness offered a variety of hiding places. He chose one at random and moved noiselessly into a well of shadows created by ancient stones.

The footsteps stopped a few seconds later. Whoever had followed him into the lane had just realized that his quarry had disappeared. Adam breathed slowly and waited, motionless. He willed his pursuer not to abandon the chase. He had some important matters to discuss with whoever was out there.

A few seconds later the footsteps started up again, hurrying now.

Adam watched for movement in the tiny lane. The single gas lamp at the far end provided barely enough light to reveal shifting shadows. But that proved sufficient for the task at hand.

The figure of the pursuer materialized as a dark shape in the greater darkness that drenched the passage.

Adam vaulted out of his hiding place. He slammed into the man with enough force to send them both sprawling on the pavement. The pursuer landed on the bottom, taking most of the shock of the fall. A metallic object clattered on the stones.

The man's hoarse, astonished shout of fear and rage ended abruptly. Adam heard a wheezing sound as the villain fought to regain the breath that had been knocked from his lungs.

"Don't move," Adam ordered.

He rolled to his feet, stepped back and slid one foot along the paving stones until it contacted an object. He bent and picked up the knife.

"I see you came armed," he observed. "Therefore, I must assume you did not follow me with the intention of inviting me to join you for a pint at the nearest tavern."

The man made a gulping sound and found his voice. "Message. Just trying to give you a message. That's all. No use to attack me like that, you bloody bastard."

"What was the message and who sent—"

He broke off when he felt the hair on the nape of his neck stir a second time. Another set of footsteps sounded, pounding toward him out of the shadows.

He swung around and tried to move aside but he came up hard against an iron railing. The second villain was upon him in an instant, lashing out with a heavily booted foot. Adam turned away from the blow, trying to limit the damage that was going to be done.

He succeeded to some extent. The boot caught him on the ribs but it did not land with the force that the attacker had intended. Off balance, Adam slammed down onto the pavement.

"This is the message," the attacker hissed. He closed in swiftly and prepared another jolting kick to the ribs.

Adam managed to grab a pant leg. He hauled on it with all his strength.

"Bastard" The assailant danced wildly, trying to stay erect and retrieve his foot.

He failed, hitting the stones hard.

The first man was on his feet. Adam heard him coming up fast from behind and turned to face him, knife in hand. The man froze a few steps away.

Holding the confiscated blade in his left hand, Adam reached inside his overcoat.

The second man scrambled awkwardly to his feet. "What are ye waitin' for, Georgie?" he whined. "Stick him. He deserves it after what he done to us"

"He's got me knife, Bart"

"True," Adam said. "But I prefer to use my own" He slid the blade from the hidden sheath inside his jacket, letting the men hear the whisper of steel on leather. "I'm more familiar with it, you see."

A short silence greeted that announcement.

"Now see here, we didn't bargain for any knife play." Georgie edged away.

"He's right," Bart assured him hastily. "Been a misunderstanding here, I believe. We were paid to deliver a message, that's all."

"Then why assault me?" Adam asked.

"The cove what commissioned us to give you the message said you would pay more attention to it if we roughed you up a bit."

"This cove you mentioned. Would he, by any chance, have been heavily whiskered and walk with a limp?" There was another short silence.

"How'd ye know that?" Bart asked, sounding deeply uneasy.

"Never mind. Now, as you have gone to all this trouble, why don't you deliver the message?"

Georgie coughed. "You're to stop poking around in certain financial matters what don't concern you." He sounded as if he were reciting a school lesson. "And if you keep prying into other people's business affairs, a certain diary will be turned over to the press."

"Thank you," Adam said. "You have confirmed my suspicion. The killer evidently does have the diary."

"What killer?" Georgie demanded nervously. "What are you talking about?"

"The man who sent the pair of you to deliver his message has recently murdered at least once and quite possibly twice."

"Ye're mad, ye are," Bart snarled. "The cove what hired us was no murderer. He were a man of business."

"So am I," Adam said.

He held the knife up slightly. There was just enough light to glint evilly on the blade.

Bart and Georgie turned and fled away down the lane.