The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx by Katherine Kurtz, Deborah Turner Harris Page B

based on the poems of Robert Burns. But though he had a great personal fondness for the works of the great Scottish bard, he found the first song something of a disappointment. Janet, who had few illusions about the modest extent of her talents, performed quite creditably, her genuine enjoyment of the music itself lending a sparkle to her delivery.
    Caroline, on the other hand, seemed determined to attack the notes, pursuing the soprano line with more aggression than style. Recalling the lyrical sweetness of Julia Barrett’s clear voice, Adam grimaced at the comparison. He was just girding himself mentally to sit through the rest of the selections when he felt a light, respectful touch on his sleeve.
    “Pardon the intrusion, sir,” murmured Humphrey, “but you have a telephone call. It’s Inspector McLeod.”
    Adam slipped out of the drawing room as unobtrusively as he could, wondering what could have prompted McLeod to call so late. It was well past two. Once outside, he made his way along the hall toward the library and sat down at the desk to wait for Humphrey to transfer the call. At the signal, he picked up the receiver.
    “Hullo, Noel., I’m here. What’s going on?”
    “I’m not entirely sure,” said McLeod’s gravelly bass. “Sorry to drag you away from your guests, but I’ve just had a damned peculiar call from a police sergeant up in Blairgowrie, name of Kirkpatrick. One of the local gamekeepers turned up at the station a few hours ago, claiming to have witnessed some kind of ritual killing, somewhere up in the woods north of the Baltierny estate.”
    Adam listened with growing interest as McLeod went on to supply what further details were available.
    “Anyway, I told Sergeant Kirkpatrick that I’d drive up to Blairgowrie and lend a hand if I could,” McLeod concluded. “I was going to ask you to come along, but I didn’t realize you had guests. It’s odd enough that I thought you should know, but it may turn out to be nothing but a wild goose chase.”
    “Oh, don’t worry about the interruption,” Adam said. “In fact, on several counts, I’m very glad you called. The way things have been going recently, we can’t afford to dismiss anything at face value. I haven’t had a chance yet to tell you about the odd thing Christopher and I uncovered yesterday in Edinburgh. It looks like a pretty cold clue right now, but it would appear that our Lynx chappies were busy around this time last year.”
    “Indeed?” McLeod said. “Maybe you should come up to Blairgowrie with me, then. You could tell me about yesterday on the way.”
    An outbreak of polite applause from the direction of the drawing room reminded Adam of Lady Caroline and her predatory affectations. Whatever might turn out to lie behind the gamekeeper’s story, all at once the prospect of a night drive to Blairgowrie seemed like the promise of a breath of fresh air.
    “As a matter of fact, that sounds like a splendid idea,” he said firmly. “My guests should be going home soon anyway. How soon can you get here?”
    “Thirty to forty minutes—assuming that the roads aren’t too bad north of the bridge.”
    “Fine,” said Adam. “That gives me ample time to get changed. We can take the Range Rover. Come round by the garage, and Humphrey will let you in.”
    With this assurance, he rang off. He relayed the necessary instructions to Humphrey over the house phone, then returned to the drawing room. Julia, Janet, and Lady Caroline were just taking their bows when he stepped through the door. Adam moved forward smoothly to meet them as they left the improvised stage.
    “My abject apologies for being obliged to miss the end of your performance, ladies,” he told them. Then, turning toward the rest of the company, he cleared his throat and called out, “Might I have your attention, please?”
    Pitched clear and low, his voice penetrated the furthest corners of the room. As heads swung in his direction, he spread his hands before