The sound seemed loud enough to wake the dead.
Lucifer flung himself up the path, gravel crunching under his feet. Phyllida followed at his heels.
The light in the drawing room abruptly died.
They skidded up against the front door, Lucifer juggling a set of unfamiliar keys. From within came the sound of footsteps fleeing across the tiles. Lucifer stopped, lifted his head, listened…
He swore and shoved the keys back in his pocket. He focused on her. "Dammit! Stay here!" He turned and charged along the front of the house.
Phyllida followed.
Lucifer rounded the corner and stopped; Phyllida cannoned into him. Steadying herself against his back, hands clutching his coat, she peered around his shoulder-
And caught a glimpse of a fleeing figure at the edge of her vision. "There!" She pointed.
The moon sailed free as the man fled across a stretch of open lawn. He was heading for the shrubbery.
"Stay here!" Lucifer took off after him.
Phyllida hesitated. There were only two other exits from the shrubbery-one to the lake, one… She looked at the entrance to the narrow path beside the lane. Dragging in a quick breath, she raced for it.
It was the fact that she wasn't following him that made Lucifer glance back. At first, he couldn't see her-then he did; she was a shadow streaking across the stretch of lawn by the main gates. His heart stopped.
"No!" he roared. "Come back!"
She dove into the dark entrance of the path.
Swearing violently, he swerved and headed after her.
He plunged along the path. It twisted and turned, a tunnel whose walls were impenetrable black, whose ceiling was the night sky obscured by dark branches. He could barely see the ground beneath his pounding feet. Branches grabbed at his coat; he pressed on at full tilt.
Phyllida was fast-faster than he'd expected-unencumbered as she was by skirts. She was still ahead of him, but he thought he could hear her footfalls over his own and the pounding in his ears.
The pertinent question was not how fast she was, but how fast the murderer was. And whether he was armed or
not.
Would they reach the end of the shrubbery in time?
Would he catch Phyllida before she ran headlong into the murderer's arms?
Then he rounded a bend and saw her; exerting every last ounce of strength, he forged ahead. He caught up with her where the shrubbery hedges ended; shoulder to shoulder, they burst into the clearing beyond.
The mocking thud of retreating hooves greeted them.
They halted, sagged. Chest heaving, hands on his hips, Lucifer looked at Phyllida. Half bent over, hands on her knees, she puffed and puffed.
He waited, then asked, "Did you recognize him?"
She shook her head, then straightened. "I barely glimpsed him at all."
They'd been too late to even catch a glimpse of the horse. Beneath his breath, Lucifer swore. He scowled at Phyllida, then brusquely gestured back up the path. He'd give her his opinion of her behavior later-after he'd caught his breath.
They retraced their steps. At the end of the path, they emerged onto the lawn. Phyllida looked ahead, sucked in a breath, and stepped back.
Lucifer halted. Dodswell and Hemmings were prowling the lawn. Inwardly sighing, he murmured, "Stay here." He began to walk forward, then paused and added, "You don't want to know what I'll do if you are not in that precise spot when I get back."
He thought he heard a haughty sniff, but he didn't look back. Pushing into a lope, he crossed the lawn, waving when Dodswell saw him.