The Trouble at Wakeley Court (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 8) by Clara Benson Page B

cautiously and listened. Outside in the passage she could hear nothing. To her right were the stairs, which led to a downstairs corridor, from where it was a quick run past the staff common-room and through to the rear atrium and the back door. To her left was Miss Bell’s room, and a little way past that Miss Devlin’s room. Angela knew that Mr. Hesketh was sleeping in one of the guest-rooms at the very end of the passage. Might it have been he she had heard?
    Just then, to her right, she heard the unmistakable sound of a stair creaking. It was not very loud, but it sounded almost deafening in the darkness. Angela felt her heart jump into her throat. She paused to catch her breath—and, it must be admitted, to summon up her courage and resist the urge to run back into her room—then took her revolver out of her pocket and crept along to the stairs as quietly as she could. The moon was shining in through a large, arched window opposite the head of the staircase, and rather than step into the full view of anyone who happened to cast a glance backwards, Angela stopped to one side and poked her head around carefully. There was nothing—only empty gloom. After a short flight, the stairs paused at a little landing and then turned to the right and continued out of view, and as Angela listened she was certain she could hear the sound of someone creeping quietly downstairs further ahead.
    Feeling the comforting shape of the gun under her hand, Angela took a deep breath, entered the dark mouth of the staircase and began to descend, keeping to the edges in an attempt to avoid the creaky step. At the little landing she paused and peered around the corner. The next flight was longer and led down into absolute blackness. Angela quailed for a second—but only a second. She drew herself up.
    ‘Now, we’ll have none of this,’ she told herself firmly. ‘What sort of a detective are you if you can’t even walk down a flight of stairs without going into a blue funk? Why, you might as well go and confess to Mr. Hesketh this minute that you’re a useless coward.’
    Having fortified herself in this manner, she listened for a moment and then set forth down the next flight. She reached the bottom without incident and paused, straining to see. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the increased darkness, and she could make out the outline of the door to the staff common-room, which was opposite. She tried the handle carefully but it was locked. Whoever it was must then have gone through the door at the end of the corridor and into the rear atrium. Angela followed, and swiftly discovered that her mysterious quarry had left the door slightly ajar. Warily she opened it and was immediately almost blinded by the moonlight which flooded into the atrium through the large windows. In an instant she saw that the back door was open, and ran towards it. Outside all was quiet, and she stood, gazing out across the lawns, which glowed pale under the moon, but could see nobody. Whoever it was might have gone in any direction—might even be hiding behind a bush or a tree. It was useless to try and search the grounds by herself. She would go and fetch Mr. Hesketh immediately. Perhaps he would know what to do.
    She ran back upstairs, past her room and along to the end of the passage, less careful of the noise she was making this time, then knocked on Mr. Hesketh’s door. He answered immediately and she was not at all surprised to see that he was fully dressed and wide awake. Quickly, she explained in a whisper what had happened, and his face set into a grim expression.
    ‘You’d better show me,’ he said, and shut the door behind him. They had not gone far when he said, ‘Wait. I’ll go and get my torch,’ and turned back.
    It was at this point that disaster struck. Miss Devlin, who had been woken up by the sound of Angela hurrying along the passage to fetch Mr. Hesketh, came out of her room to see what was going on just as Mr. Hesketh was