spring. Lancing much preferred the physical sensations of the night and the promise of the hunt that came with them, but he was quite capable of enjoying the heat of the sun and the scent of new growth. His talents were those of the hunter and a hunter was, by nature, always in touch with his surroundings.
He stood beneath one of the newly leafed trees and studied the front door of Number 7 Vine Street. An hour ago he had followed the mysterious Mrs. Ravenglass home from her consulting rooms in Marigold Lane. She had disappeared inside the house long enough to eat a light meal and refresh herself and then had reemerged to walk back toward her business premises.
His first plan was to wait until night and then enter the house to search for the crystal. With his talents, it would be no trick at all to break into Number 7 without raising an alarm. It was how he had administered the vapor to Bloomfield and Ivington. Neither man had even awakened until he held the poison-soaked cloths over their mouths and noses. By the time they had opened their eyes, of course, it was too late.
Delbridge had specified that there was to be no killing when he recovered the crystal today for fear of drawing the attention of the police. But Lancing took that to mean no unnecessary killing. It would not be his fault if Mrs. Ravenglass or her housekeeper, the only occupants of the house at Number 7, were to awaken while he was inside. He would have no choice but to cut a throat or two. In fact, he anticipated using the threat to force the crystal worker to give up the stone. And afterward he would be forced to kill her. Couldn’t leave any witnesses, now, could he?
But as soon as he had seen the dog greet Mrs. Ravenglass at her door he had changed his plans for a midnight burglary. His paranormal talents made him faster than the average man and heightened his natural senses. Nevertheless, he was still a creature of nature— albeit a highly evolved one—not some magical or supernatural being. His speed and reflexes were far superior to those of others of his own kind, but he was no faster or better equipped to bring down prey than any of nature’s other superior predators: a wolf, for example.
Mrs. Ravenglass’s dog looked as if it had descended from wolves.
He did not fancy his chances against another such beast of prey. The dog would sense him the moment he entered the house. Lancing was not certain that his weapon of choice, a knife, would be effective against all those teeth and primeval reflexes. Even if he managed to kill the dog, the creature might well alarm the entire street with his barking before he died.
But large dogs required plenty of vigorous exercise, certainly more than could be provided in the tiny garden behind Number 7 or in the little park. Sooner or later someone inside the house would have to take the animal for a long walk.
As he watched, the front door of the house opened. The housekeeper appeared. She wore a gray gown, sensible shoes and a bonnet. In one hand she held the end of a leash. The wolf-dog was at the other end of the long strip of leather.
When the housekeeper and the dog reached the bottom of the front steps, the beast halted abruptly and looked directly across the street into the park, ears sharpened. He stared hard at Lancing. There was an intent, unnerving steadiness about the animal’s gaze. The housekeeper turned to see what had attracted his attention.
Lancing angled his hat over the side of his face, shielding his features, and started quickly away toward the far end of the street.
“Come along, Fog.” The housekeeper tugged on the leash.
Reluctantly the dog trotted after her.
Lancing exhaled slowly, but he did not stop walking until he reached the far end of the park. Then he allowed himself to turn around. The housekeeper and the dog had both disappeared around the corner.
A short time later, Lancing made his way into the tiny garden at the back of Number 7. He took out his lock pick.
He stood beneath one of the newly leafed trees and studied the front door of Number 7 Vine Street. An hour ago he had followed the mysterious Mrs. Ravenglass home from her consulting rooms in Marigold Lane. She had disappeared inside the house long enough to eat a light meal and refresh herself and then had reemerged to walk back toward her business premises.
His first plan was to wait until night and then enter the house to search for the crystal. With his talents, it would be no trick at all to break into Number 7 without raising an alarm. It was how he had administered the vapor to Bloomfield and Ivington. Neither man had even awakened until he held the poison-soaked cloths over their mouths and noses. By the time they had opened their eyes, of course, it was too late.
Delbridge had specified that there was to be no killing when he recovered the crystal today for fear of drawing the attention of the police. But Lancing took that to mean no unnecessary killing. It would not be his fault if Mrs. Ravenglass or her housekeeper, the only occupants of the house at Number 7, were to awaken while he was inside. He would have no choice but to cut a throat or two. In fact, he anticipated using the threat to force the crystal worker to give up the stone. And afterward he would be forced to kill her. Couldn’t leave any witnesses, now, could he?
But as soon as he had seen the dog greet Mrs. Ravenglass at her door he had changed his plans for a midnight burglary. His paranormal talents made him faster than the average man and heightened his natural senses. Nevertheless, he was still a creature of nature— albeit a highly evolved one—not some magical or supernatural being. His speed and reflexes were far superior to those of others of his own kind, but he was no faster or better equipped to bring down prey than any of nature’s other superior predators: a wolf, for example.
Mrs. Ravenglass’s dog looked as if it had descended from wolves.
He did not fancy his chances against another such beast of prey. The dog would sense him the moment he entered the house. Lancing was not certain that his weapon of choice, a knife, would be effective against all those teeth and primeval reflexes. Even if he managed to kill the dog, the creature might well alarm the entire street with his barking before he died.
But large dogs required plenty of vigorous exercise, certainly more than could be provided in the tiny garden behind Number 7 or in the little park. Sooner or later someone inside the house would have to take the animal for a long walk.
As he watched, the front door of the house opened. The housekeeper appeared. She wore a gray gown, sensible shoes and a bonnet. In one hand she held the end of a leash. The wolf-dog was at the other end of the long strip of leather.
When the housekeeper and the dog reached the bottom of the front steps, the beast halted abruptly and looked directly across the street into the park, ears sharpened. He stared hard at Lancing. There was an intent, unnerving steadiness about the animal’s gaze. The housekeeper turned to see what had attracted his attention.
Lancing angled his hat over the side of his face, shielding his features, and started quickly away toward the far end of the street.
“Come along, Fog.” The housekeeper tugged on the leash.
Reluctantly the dog trotted after her.
Lancing exhaled slowly, but he did not stop walking until he reached the far end of the park. Then he allowed himself to turn around. The housekeeper and the dog had both disappeared around the corner.
A short time later, Lancing made his way into the tiny garden at the back of Number 7. He took out his lock pick.
Similar Books
