The room they entered was unlike any Emma had seen in Penford Hall. Not a single painting hung on the stark white walls, no carpet covered the tiled floor, and although the furnishings were expensive and extremely well made, they weren’t priceless antiques. As her flashlight glided over computers, printers, fax machines, photocopiers, and telephones, Emma felt as though she’d stepped into the nerve center of a modem office building.
“Oh my,” she breathed, as the beam of her flashlight came to rest on a sleek black computer at the center of the room. She approached it slowly and rested one hand on the monitor, watching in awe as numbers, graphs, and complicated charts scrolled rapidly across the divided screen.
“What is it?” Derek whispered.
“A Series Ten,” Emma replied. “I’ve read about it, but I’ve never gotten my hands on one before.”
“Latest thing?” They stood a little ways apart, and carefully avoided each other’s eyes. Emma’s voice was too businesslike, Derek’s too chipper, and they both spoke much too quickly.
Emma nodded. “It’s based on a new, high-performance chip. Five times the speed, more capacity than you can imagine.”
“What’s it doing?”
“Monitoring ongoing transactions.” Emma studied the screens. “Looks financial to me. Money transfers. Deutsche marks, pounds, Swiss francs, yen.” She frowned. “Wait a minute. There should be ...” Shining her light around the room, Emma spotted a wall-mounted rack covered with wires. “I thought so. High-speed data lines. He’d need them to keep current with international markets.” She bit her lip, perplexed, then gestured for Derek to return to the spiral staircase. When the door was safely shut, she asked, “Why would Grayson need that kind of setup? It’s powerful enough to run a fair-sized corporation.”
“Why don’t you ask the machine?”
Emma shook her head. “Too risky. It’ll report any interruptions in its automatic functions. And I think it’s safe to assume that Grayson’s done what he could to protect his data. We’d need a password, maybe even a series of passwords, to do anything at all.”
Derek nodded thoughtfully. “Does this prove that Grayson could’ve fiddled Lex’s accounts?”
“All it proves is that he knows a lot about computers. What it suggests is that, if Lex’s accounts were kept electronically, Grayson could’ve made them dance. Oh, damn.” Emma rattled her flashlight, which was beginning to fade. “Don’t suppose you have an extra set of batteries?”
“Sorry.” Derek switched off her flashlight and hung it on his belt. “Take mine. It’s not much better, but it’ll last long enough to get us where we’re going. No need to turn it off. The next stop on our tour is a bedroom, but it is definitely unoccupied.”
A dozen steps took them to another long, low corridor that led away from the silent heart of the hall to a second door, identical to the first. Again Derek braced himself to tug on the iron ring, and when the door swung open this time, Emma recoiled from the howl of the wind. It seemed deafening after the stillness of the staircase.
“Good Lord,” said Derek. “Hope the Tregallis boys’ boat is safely into port. Not a night to be out fishing.”
“I hope Bantry’s harvested the runner beans,” said Emma. “That wind will strip the arbor bare.” She peered into the room, but her view was blocked by some kind of heavy fabric. “A tapestry?” she asked. She lifted the edge of the cloth, then ducked under it. Closing the wooden door behind him, Derek ducked under the tapestry after her.
There was nothing stark or modern about this room. It was sumptuous, crammed with furniture that looked as though it had been there for a very long time. The canopied bed was hung with richly embroidered black satin curtains, and a pair of caryatids held up the marble mantelpiece. The painting on the ceiling featured a dozen languid, buxom beauties whose thin gowns left little to the imagination. They reclined on facing couches, waited on by plump cupids who flitted through a pristine blue sky.
A pair of gold brocade chairs faced the hearth, and four dainty green velvet chairs were grouped around a gaming table. A green velvet divan sat before the draped windows between a pair of ornately carved end tables, and there was a low, cushioned bench at the foot of the bed.
A dizzying array of objects crowded every table and shelf: vases, candlesticks, paperweights, porcelain figurines, lacquered boxes, photographs in silver frames. Paintings large and small covered the walls, each featuring a different garden scene. Emma turned eagerly to Derek, then lowered her eyes and tried to sound casual. “Is this Grandmother’s room?”
Derek nodded. He crossed to open the drapes, then stood with his back toward Emma, as though mesmerized by the intermittent flashes of lightning. “I’ve exceeded my brief by coming here,” he admitted. “Grayson asked me expressly to leave her room alone.”
“Isn’t it the most logical place to look for the lantern?” Emma asked.
“Grayson assures me that they’ve searched it thoroughly. It’s clean, as far as the lantern is concerned.” He glanced over his shoulder with an unexpected twinkle in his eye.
Emma was unable to suppress her excitement. “Come on, Derek, show me.”
“Don’t suppose I should take such pleasure in this,” he said, crossing from the windows to stand before a lute-strumming marble angel perched upon a marble pedestal, “but it’s really quite wonderful. Watch.” He grasped the angel’s head and tilted it forward, and the wall behind the pedestal swung away into darkness.
Emma was astonished. “How did you even know to try that?”
“I didn’t. I was just poking around and bumped into it. Thought I’d broken the blasted thing. Want to take a look inside?”
Emma edged past the decapitated angel into a round room with seamless marble walls rising to a domed ceiling. The curving walls were inset with a series of arched niches, and each niche held a stringed musical instrument. An antique mandolin was nearest to her, its neck intricately inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Beside it was a lute, and next to that ...
Emma stared, dumbfounded, as the beam of Derek’s flashlight picked out a shiny black electric guitar inlaid with a silver lightning bolt, the trademark of Lex Rex.
“I don’t believe it,” she breathed, turning to face Derek, who had followed her into the room.
“Didn’t think you would,” said Derek proudly. “Doesn’t really prove that Grayson murdered Lex, though.”
An eerie peal of laughter cut through the moaning wind, and Emma gasped as a flash of lightning from the bedroom window limned a familiar figure in the doorway. Derek stiffened, then swung around as a voice sounded behind him.
“Don’t be squeamish, dear boy,” said the duke, stepping into the room. “Of course I murdered Lex Rex. And I know precisely what I’m going to do with both of you.”
19
“You’re back early, Grayson.” Derek took an unobstrusive backward step that placed him between Emma and the duke. “We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“Disappointed?” Grayson asked.
“Not at all,” Derek assured him. “Merely ... surprised.”
“I can see that,” the duke commented dryly. “Had I known of your interest in antique musical instruments, I would have returned sooner.”
Emma moved to Derek’s side. She appreciated his chivalrous instincts, but it was maddening to stand behind him, unable to see the duke. If something dreadful was about to happen, she wasn’t going to let Derek face it alone.
She was content to let him do the talking, though. So far, the two men were acting as though this were nothing more than a chance encounter at a somewhat unusual house party. Derek’s sangfroid suggested that it was perfectly normal to be facing a murderous madman in a secret room, lit only by the dimming beam of a dying flashlight and the brief white fire of lightning.