For a moment Grace wondered if the wind had—but no. There was no wind. Even as that thought formed and was instantly discarded, a huge, hairy hand pushed open the secret door of the clock.
Grace stood up, dropping pen and pad.
“Uh, Peter,” she called. “You guys!” Due to the sudden lack of air in her lungs, it didn’t come out as forcefully as she wished.
She could see the face of the man trying to wedge himself through the narrow opening of the clock case, and it was not reassuring. He looked like a pirate. Long, curly black hair, a dark hawkish face, and unbelievably, an eye patch. Her gasp sounded clearly in the silent room.
“Oh, hell,” the intruder rasped, his scowling gaze falling upon Grace. And then, “Wait!”
Grace was already edging to the hall door and her friends, who were maddeningly chattering away at the top of their lungs.
The man lunged out of the clock case and Grace bolted into the hall. The others broke off whatever they were doing and stared at her, as for a split second Grace mimed her plight. At last her paralyzed vocal chords recovered and she cried, “There’s a man inside the flat!”
Monica and Calum gaped at her. Peter, who was on the ladder, leaped down as lightly as a cat and sprinted toward her.
Without pausing to ask questions, he went right past Grace, who followed him inside only to find the room…empty.
The secret door stood open and footsteps could be heard scuffling and scrambling down the stone steps of the passage.
“He’s getting away,” Grace exclaimed.
“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Monica and Calum joined them.
“Someone broke in,” Grace tried to explain. And then, “You’re not going down there after him?” This was directed to Peter’s retreating back as he knelt and maneuvered his wide shoulders through the narrow doorway.
“Someone came in through your clock?” Monica was saying.
“A secret passage!” Calum sounded ecstatic.
Grace heard all this as a kind of background music. Her attention was pinned on Peter, and she very nearly grabbed his retreating boots to try and keep him from disappearing down the passage. “But we can head him off!” She ducked her head into the aperture and heard Peter’s answer though it took her a moment to process it.
“There’s an outside entrance.”
An outside entrance?
“Is that really a secret passage?” Monica squatted down beside Grace. “Should we call the police?”
“No, no police.”
“Here, let me through.” Calum knelt down and Monica and Grace shifted out of the way. Calum tried to crawl through the opening, but his wide shoulders, wider even than Peter’s, thwarted him.
Grace didn’t wait to see whether he worked out the physical geometry or not. Scrambling to her feet, she flew downstairs, making for the stockroom with its entrance to the passageway.
This is reactive behavior, not proactive. Even as she hurried, she was lecturing herself, as though she stood before a roomful of freshman girls. This is not the way to—but here her critical mind balked, possibly unable to put a coherent spin on what was an utterly unreasonable situation.
Before she reached the door to the stockroom, Grace realized she might need a weapon of some kind—if her goal really was to keep the intruder from escaping out this part of the secret passage. She turned around and headed back for the stairs and the display of impressive weaponry hanging there.
She tried to grab a sword off the hooks, but discovered it was wired at the hilt. It took a few precious moments to work it loose.
“Grace, what in the world?” Monica was at the head of the stairs calling down to her. “What’s the matter with you two? Why can’t you call the police?”
“It’s a long story.”
“What?”
“No police!” Grace gasped out, freeing the sword at last. She sprinted on to the stockroom, the sword inconveniently banging into furniture and shelves as she went.
In the stockroom, Grace paused.
The secret door was still firmly in place. That was a good thing, she decided. That meant the intruder was still within the walls of Craddock House.