

WADING

INTO

MURDER

Book Two

THE LAURA MORLAND

MYSTERY SERIES

JOAN DAHR LAMBERT©

Prologue

The dark-clothed figure scurried through the gloom of the underground caverns. This was an ancient place, filled with the spirits of long-dead people. She could feel them all around her. Shivering, she clutched the bundle she carried closer against her chest and peered nervously into the shadows.

The key - the special key she had been given. Pulling it out with shaking fingers, she unlocked the rusted door. It creaked noisily and she jumped, almost dropping her burden. She glanced at it, her face softening with pity.

Now, down the stairs to the rocks on her left. That was where she must leave it. Someone would come quickly, she had been told. That was good. It was cold here, and damp.

Carefully, she settled the bundle into a shallow cave-like space formed by two protruding rocks. She frowned, reluctant now to leave. Would it be safe?

She must not linger. That too had been emphasized. On impulse, she lowered her body in prayer. Then she rose and hurried back the way she had come.
CHAPTER ONE

Laura strode triumphantly into the town of Bath, which marked the end of the Cotswold Way. She was exhausted and covered in mud, but euphoric. Finally, she had finished the long-distance walk that was interrupted last summer when she'd found a body and narrowly escaped being killed by a triple murderer. This time, there hadn't been a criminal or a body anywhere along the way, other than one long-dead sheep, and the walking had been glorious.

Her landlady at the pristine, antique-filled Bed and Breakfast where Laura had booked a room was less enthusiastic. She took one look at her guest's filthy boots and spattered pants, marched her to the back yard and sprayed her off with the hose. Then, grudgingly, she allowed Laura into her room.

Laura surveyed it with delighted approval. Luxury didn't come her way often and when it did, she appreciated it with every fiber of her being. A fat duvet and billowy pillows decorated the wide bed, and the bathroom was positively glamorous. It had a modern shower, a huge old tub, and thick towels warmed by a heated rack. Laura filled the tub with steaming water, sank into it, and felt her soreness ease away. Toweling herself off, she sank down again, this time into the feather-soft bed.

The next morning, she awoke re-invigorated and ready for the sightseeing she had promised herself after the walk. She hurried down to breakfast, a feast of porridge, toast, eggs and bacon and a full teapot. There was also a newspaper with glaring headlines about an international gang of criminals who stole babies from immigrant neighborhoods in the U.K. Probably destined for the sex trade, Laura thought angrily, to satisfy the perverted tastes of men who could afford to indulge them.

She pushed the paper away. She had recently amassed an entire file cabinet of articles about the brutal treatment of women and children across the world for the course she would teach in Oxford after her vacation. Until then, she couldn't bear to be reminded of horrors like the millions of girls enslaved in brothels. Forcing their plight from her mind, she poured another cup of tea and nibbled contentedly on a piece of well-buttered toast. Life didn't get much better than this.

First on her sight-seeing list was the Roman Baths, an ancient bathing complex built by the Romans in 43AD. The doors weren't open when she arrived, so she read brochures. The Baths had been built around natural hot springs that released a quarter of a million gallons of warm water a day, they told her.

A cleaning woman appeared, carrying a bucket in one hand and a mop in the other. Unlocking the entrance door, she scurried through. She seemed to be in a great hurry, since she either forgot or didn't bother to lock the door behind her. Laura edged furtively toward the entrance. Should she go in? Ten minutes alone in the Baths before the tourist hordes arrived would be wonderful.

Unable to resist the temptation, Laura slid through the door and walked rapidly down the stairs into the cavernous underground chambers. No one seemed to notice her, so she relaxed and allowed her imagination free rein. Romans appeared like white-clad shadows all around her; she followed them dreamily through arched doorways into vast spaces filled with statues of Gods and Goddesses, and secretive chambers with moss covered ceilings so low she had to stoop. Waterfalls gurgled through rock-lined trenches that bore the water off to still more pools, some deeply incised into the rocks, others shallow enough so that children could play safely. Laura could almost hear their excited cries as they splashed into the water and the eager chatter of the mothers dunking the babies gently up and down...

One of the babies needed a wash badly, Laura thought, wrinkling her nose, and came abruptly back to the present. How odd! She really could smell a baby. Had odors been introduced to enrich the experience?

Impossible, she decided. No one would use the scent of a dirty diaper, which was what she smelled. It was a very distinctive odor. Still, she hadn't been exposed to a messy diaper for quite a few years. Maybe the scent came from a dead animal, or even spoiled food.

Mystified, Laura followed the smell further into the underground labyrinth. Her footsteps resounded against the hard stone, and her eyes strained to see into the darkness. Apparently, the lights hadn't been turned on yet. It was colder down here, too, and damp. The odor was stronger than ever. Wrinkling her nose, she turned to go back, but was startled into immobility by a muffled sneeze. It was followed by a faint snort and an aborted wail. Laura frowned. That really did sound like a baby.

Spotting a flight of stairs to a platform, she climbed up, hoping to see better from above. When she leaned over its high parapet, she discovered to her surprise that she was looking down at the hot springs that fed the whole complex. A pool enclosed the soft mass of bubbles at its center. The water was deep milky green, utterly opaque, making it impossible to see what lurked beneath the slowly swirling surface.

A ripple broke the stillness, as if some creature were swimming expertly across the pool. Laura shuddered. It could be a snake, or a rat.

Her eyes moved to the far side of the pool and fastened on a pale lump. Surely that couldn't be the child she had heard. Or could it?

Pulling out the flashlight she had bought last summer when the lack of that indispensable object had caused her to be caught red-handed by a possible murderer, Laura shone it across the pool. Her eyes widened in dismay. The lump was a baby, almost hidden on a shallow ledge framed by two big rocks. Only its face was visible, sticking up above the blankets wrapped tightly around the rest of its body. How extraordinary!

The newspaper article about babies being stolen by a criminal organization popped into her mind. But why would anyone leave a baby here?

The child wriggled irritably. If it moved too much it would fall off the ledge and roll into the water, Laura thought anxiously, and it would sink like a stone with all that swaddling. But how was she to rescue it? The only way to get to it was to climb down the wall below her and swim though the pool. Neither held any appeal. Signs above had warned that the water was far from sanitary, and even the thought of climbing down that sheer wall made her dizzy.

She looked around for help but no one was visible. Where were the other tourists? Surely the doors must be open by now. And why hadn't the lights been turned on?

Hope flared when she heard the sound of scurrying feet. Laura made out the figure of the cleaning woman, still carrying her bucket but now wearing a dark scarf over her head. Relieved, she called out for help. To her astonishment, the woman gasped in fright and broke into a run, almost tripping over her voluminous robes in her haste to get away. She hadn't been dressed like that before, Laura thought, confused, but then she forgot the puzzle as the baby uttered bleating sounds of distress.

Scrambling down from the platform, she sprinted to the large double doors that led to the upper levels of the Baths. Surely she could find someone who would help her up there. A crumpled piece of paper on the stone floor caught her attention. Stuffing it into her pocket, she pulled at the doors.

To her alarm, they were locked. They hadn't been locked when she'd come in. Frantic now, she pounded. No response came, not even an answering shout. Where was everyone?

She could hear the baby, though, even from up here. Laura ran back to check on it. The pathetic little bleats had turned into full-throated howls of frustration. More ominously, the child was thrashing about to the best of its limited ability, considering the constricting blankets. Laura gulped. Another inch and it would fall into the pool, and then she would have to dive for it. She'd better get to it quickly.

Clambering onto the parapet, she flung one leg over, then the other and balanced precariously on a narrow ledge at the top of the wall. She looked down for footholds and saw none. Vertigo struck immediately. Laura stared fixedly at the wall until the world stopped whirling. Her eyes focused on a rusty iron ring embedded in the rock. Inch by inch she pulled off her jacket and thrust it through the ring, letting the sleeves dangle. Holding onto them with all her strength, she lowered her swaying body.

The baby was yelling lustily. Laura forced herself to look down again. Only a few more feet. Closing her eyes, she plunged into the murky depths of the pool.

****************

The water was horribly slimy. Probably it hadn't been cleaned since Roman times, Laura realized, appalled. Centuries of grime and pathogens were slurping all around her, even into her face.

At least it wasn't over her head. That was a blessing. And then it was. Her feet lost their tenuous purchase on the slippery stones and she floundered helplessly, too terrified by the thought of getting the noxious liquid in her mouth to force herself to swim properly. Was she fated to drown in this ghastly place?

A dark shape slid past her. Laura jerked away, paddling wildly. Chin held high, arms flailing, she thrashed ahead.

An overhanging rock on the far side hit her shoulder. She clutched it with both hands, and levered her body onto it. Shivering uncontrollably in the cool air, she crawled toward the baby.

Perversely, it had stopped wailing, and its eyes were open. Laura flicked on her flashlight, which had survived the damp crossing thanks to a waterproof case, and stared in mounting astonishment. She had seen this baby before, in the airport while she had waited for her flight from New York to London. There was no mistaking the dark skin, turquoise eyes and pale hair. It had a twin, too, Laura remembered, which had made it even more noticeable.

Her mind recreated the scene. A dark-eyed woman in a head scarf, presumably the baby's mother, had been feeding another infant of exactly the same size as the first. But like the mother, the second baby had dark hair and eyes. Entertaining both of them with a graceful little dance was a girl with the same unusual coloring as the first baby, probably a sister. Her features had struck Laura forcibly because she looked so much like the green-eyed Afghan girl who had once been featured on the cover of National Geographic magazine.

Curious, Laura had sought the source of the vivid coloring and had spotted the father sitting nearby. He too had greenish eyes, light hair and dark skin, but on him it looked sallow and unattractive. She had found him irritating, she recalled, because he had made no move to help with the increasingly restless babies, nor had he bothered to lower his voice during a long and noisy conversation on his cell phone with a bossy-sounding woman. Something about meetings and dropping off materials.

The pale-haired baby she was trying to rescue screwed up its face and let out a screeching yell, bringing Laura rudely back to the present. The noise racketed around the deserted underground space. Pulling the child into her arms, she rocked it gently and wished she had an extra hand to pinch her nose closed. The poor little creature really did smell.

Its screams subsided and it began to root around near her chest with pursed lips. The small effort seemed too much for it. With a sad little hiccup it closed its eyes and slept again. Laura frowned. For a baby to fall asleep so suddenly was odd, especially when it had a filthy diaper. Most babies just kept on screaming until they were changed. Hers had.

A possible answer surfaced. Could it be drugged? The idea made horrible sense. Anyone who had hidden a stolen child in the Baths would want to keep it quiet.

A worse thought followed. How was she to get the baby out? Swimming across the pool and climbing up a wall with a wriggling infant in her arms would be impossible. There must be another way to get out of this place.

Laura splayed her flashlight around and spotted a rusty metal door she hadn't been able to see from above. Setting the child down carefully, she yanked and pried at it, but the door wouldn't budge.

A sharp tapping sound made her whirl. She stared in astonishment. An elderly woman was leaning precariously over the parapet and rapping a huge umbrella briskly against the rocks. A feathered hat was perched rakishly on her gray hair. Beside her stood a tall, narrow shouldered youth whose eyes were raised to the heavens, whether in despair or invocation, Laura couldn't be sure.

"You seem in rather a dilemma," the woman said in a conversational tone. The comment echoed hollowly in the cavernous space.

"Ah – yes, I guess I am." Laura admitted. The baby opened its mouth to scream and she hastily picked it up again.

"Well, you either are or you are not," the woman answered. "Do not equivocate. Just tell us exactly what the dilemma is and William and I will try to help."

The youth's head snapped down, and he looked at the older woman in horror. The idea of dealing with a baby clearly didn't please him. Laura suppressed a laugh. He would like it even less once he knew that a stinking diaper was involved.

Endeavoring to be succinct, she described the situation. "The door over there is locked," she said, pointing to it, "and I can't swim back with the child, or climb the wall. Perhaps you could find help."

She was quickly disillusioned. "There is no one to find. We are the only ones here," the gray-haired lady told her placidly. "William and I prefer an atmosphere that is untrammeled by crowds, so we always slip in early."

Laura's interest quickened. A woman after her own heart!

"We cannot go out to find help, either, since the doors are still locked," the woman continued in the same imperturbable tone. "Therefore, we shall have to resolve the problem ourselves." Tipping her head to one side, she considered the pool, Laura, the child, and William, whom Laura suspected was her grandson.

"Do you know why the doors are locked?" Laura asked. "I thought the Baths opened at nine, and it's long past that."

"Bomb scare," the youth answered nonchalantly.

"A bomb scare?" Laura was appalled. If a bomb went off down here they would be reduced to dust – if they were lucky.

As if to prove her words, the sound of a loud explosion suddenly permeated the cavernous building. Terrified, Laura tightened her grip on the baby and crouched down, waiting for the walls to crumble.
CHAPTER TWO

Nothing happened. Laura dared to raise her head.

"Don't worry, my dear. It is exactly as I thought," the woman in the feathered hat assured her. "That was not a bomb, only a motorcar.

"We did not believe the bomb report so we came in anyway," she added. "A great deal of nonsense, in my opinion. Pranksters, no doubt."

Laura stared at her. "A motorcar? Could a car make that much noise?"

"People put homemade bombs in them," the young man explained. "Then they call in a bomb scare and say it's in a place where there are a lot of tourists.

"The bombs are usually pretty small and the police clear the area so no one is hurt," he added hastily, seeing Laura's distressed face. "All it does really is make a dreadful mess of traffic. Happens all the time."

Laura stood up again, feeling deflated now that the walls weren't falling after all. It did seem an odd coincidence, though, that she'd found an abandoned baby the same day as a bomb scare.

"I still think we should get out of here as fast as we can," she demurred. "There could be more than one bomb."

"True," the woman agreed. "The bomb was reported to be in the vaults beside the abbey next door, not here, so that is still the more likely target. Still, expediency dictates that we leave as soon as possible. The question is, how."

"Aha!" she exclaimed. "I have it." She regarded William appraisingly. "You have good long legs," she announced. "You will be across in no time."

Laura looked at William and agreed that he must have long legs since most of his upper body showed over the high parapet. He wore a black t-shirt decorated with a skull, and rings of varying sizes pierced both ears and probably other places she didn't want to know about.

William looked shocked. "Me? You want me to go in there and get it?"

His grandmother didn't answer. "The question is," she mused, "how are we to keep the child from getting wet? I shudder to think what is in that water."

"Maybe there's a tunnel we could use instead," William suggested in a pleasant voice that still had a tendency to crack. "I've looked at the old maps and there's a lot of underground stuff around here, old graves and tunnels. That could be one, back there. It would be fun to explore it." He pointed to a small iron grating in the wall behind the pool.

Laura blanched. She had been forced to creep through an old tunnel to break into an ancient manor house last summer, and even the thought of doing it again brought on an attack of acute claustrophobia. She voted for the pool, despite its horrors.

To her relief, his grandmother agreed. "Thank you, William," she answered. "I fear, however, that exploration must wait for another visit, considering the bomb and the need to rescue the child in a timely manner. One doesn't find an abandoned baby in the Baths very often, so we must give that precedence."

William looked disappointed, but his grandmother's face lit up with a triumphant smile. "The umbrella," she announced. "I should have thought of it right away." She held up the umbrella and unfurled it grandly. It was even larger than Laura had suspected, and it had a sturdy curved handle. "There," Lady Longtree said with satisfaction. "This will be the boat."

William sniffed the air dubiously. "What's that awful smell?" he asked, seeming suddenly aware of the odor permeating the underground space.

His grandmother lied instantly. "A dead rat probably," she announced. Laura didn't contradict her. William didn't need to know just yet.

"What I want you to do, William," the doughty lady continued, "is to swim over there with the umbrella and the ropes in your pack. Then you can -

"Pardon me," she interrupted herself, turning to Laura. "Could you give me your name? I feel I should know who you are under the circumstances."

"Yes, of course," Laura agreed. "My name is Laura, Laura Morland."

"And I am Lady Longtree," the woman answered. "But please call me Olivia. And this is my grandson, William."

"How do you do, Lady Longtree," Laura answered, feeling that Olivia was a bit informal for a titled lady on first acquaintance. "And William."

"No, no," Lady Longtree protested. "Please use Olivia. I was not thinking. Normally, I use the title only when I need to intimidate someone."

Laura laughed. With this lady on her side, anything could be accomplished. "All right," she agreed, though she doubted she would able to call anyone as formidable as Lady Longtree Olivia. "What is your umbrella plan?"

"Thank you, my dear. The plan is simple. William will swim across with the ropes and the umbrella and help you tie the baby securely inside it. Together, you will guide it across the pool. The umbrella is quite waterproof. Another rope can be tied to the umbrella handle. William will climb up again with that one and haul the baby up the wall to me," she finished cheerfully.

"You mean I get to explore the pool?" William sounded eager again. "I always wanted to try out one of these pools."

"William is something of an antiquarian," his grandmother explained.

"How fascinating!" Laura smiled at William. "I'd be grateful if you'd help," she added. "The pool is a bit deep for me, and if I go under you can steady the boat, the umbrella, that is."

William looked gratified. "Okay," he agreed. Leaping onto the parapet, he surveyed the drop dispassionately and was down before Laura could blink. Balancing on a skinny edge of skirting Laura hadn't noticed before – and fortunately hadn't hit when she dropped into the pool - he took off his t-shirt, removed his ostentatiously unlaced shoes and looked dubiously at his belt, which was enhanced with shiny metal spikes. He started to take it off and then thought better of the idea. His pants would probably fall down if he did, Laura concluded.

Belt, rings and all, he jumped into the pool and swam toward her, holding the umbrella, with the ropes coiled inside it, with one hand. He pushed it onto the rocks near her; then, without warning, he dived and disappeared for so long that Laura wondered if she would have to rescue him, too. He reappeared however, shaking water from his spiky hair. In the dim light it looked purple, but it might be black. The face beneath it was remarkably gentle. Laura suspected that under all the trappings he was soft as butter, like so many of the bizarrely dressed students she taught at home.

William eyed the assortment of objects he had plucked from the bottom. "Not much down there," he reported. "Just junk tourists throw in and a couple of water snakes. Great place for them down here."

Laura flinched and considered mentioning the dirty diaper as revenge. She was willing to bet he'd told her about the snakes to test her mettle. She decided against it. Help was more important.

There was no need anyway. William got the message as soon as he joined her. "How have you been able to stand the smell?" he asked her, holding his nose. "Maybe we should just leave it here until the mother comes back."

"Babies don't always smell this terrible," she assured him, not wanting this experience to leave a lasting scar that would impede future fatherhood. "They're actually a great deal of fun some of the time."

"Yeah," he said. "After they grow up."

Laura didn't bother to respond. "You steady the umbrella on the edge of the pool. I'll put the baby in and tie it with your help," she suggested.

"Great." William unfurled the umbrella and jumped happily back into the pool. He held it in place with one hand while continuing to hold his nose with the other until Laura needed him to help with the knots. Once the baby was tied in securely, they lowered the umbrella gently into the water. It did make quite a good boat.

Wishing desperately that she didn't have to do this, Laura slid into the pool again and grasped one side of the makeshift craft so it wouldn't tip with the child's weight. Instead, she lost her footing. The umbrella wobbled precariously.

"Better let me do it," William offered. "I'm taller."

"I'll swim one-handed," Laura said, reluctantly deciding that further exposure to unknown pathogens was less important than the baby's safety. "Then I can put the other hand on the umbrella, just in case."

"Sails ahoy," William responded gallantly and unexpectedly.

Together they maneuvered their unlikely craft across the pool. William swung his long body out of the water with easy grace. Laura did the same but without the grace, and landed in a shivering heap on the stone skirting.

Lady Longtree, she noticed, was now sitting on top of the parapet. Her well-laced brown shoes beat a faint tattoo against the rocks as she watched their progress. Laura wondered how she had got up there in her sensible tweed skirt.

Pulling on his t-shirt and shoes, William scampered up the wall to the narrow ledge, rope in hand. "Hold the umbrella up as high as you can and I'll pull it the rest of the way up with the rope," he instructed.

Laura took a deep breath, picked up the umbrella, which was very heavy now that it contained a baby, and held it up as William hauled in the rope. He grabbed for the handle, almost fell, recovered his balance and tried again. Laura's shoulders ached so badly she feared she would drop her burden and fall backwards into the pool, and then suddenly the weight disappeared.

William held the umbrella up to his grandmother. "Up with the babe!" she exclaimed triumphantly. With commendable calm, she leaned down and grabbed the handle. Together, she, the umbrella and the baby tumbled off the parapet, fortunately in the direction of the platform.

Laura heard her satisfied voice floating over the wall. "Not even damp," she announced. "From the outside, that is."

"A lot more than damp from the inside," William commented as he vaulted over the parapet.

Left behind, Laura surveyed her predicament. William was up, the baby was up, but she was still here, and she had no idea how to get out.

William came to her rescue. "Just grab the rope as you sort of walk up the wall," he told her, dangling the rope in front of her, "and I'll pull you as far as the ledge. After that it's easy." His hands were surprisingly strong; so were his arms, and Laura found herself dragged up the wall with apparent ease despite the fact that her feet barely made contact with the rocks.

"Thank you," she mumbled, remembering to retrieve the jacket she had used to lower herself. "I'm afraid I'm not much good at rock climbing."

Lady Longtree voice interrupted. "Excellent! I commend both of you. Now all we must do is discover why the child was left in the Baths and who left it. I should like very much to know, too, if the baby's presence is connected to the bomb business."

"It seems a strange coincidence," Laura agreed.

Lady Longtree nodded. "Indeed it does. We shall have to find out why."

"I think I know the baby," Laura admitted as she thrust her arms into her jacket and tried to stop shivering. Lady Longtree looked at her sharply.

"I saw it at the airport in New York," Laura explained. "It is an easy child to recognize because of its unusual coloring, its eyes especially. It is one of twins, I believe, at least when I saw them in the airport, they seemed to be twins. That made the baby easier to remember too."

"How very strange," Lady Longtree murmured. As if it knew it was under discussion, the baby opened its turquoise eyes and stared at her.

"I see what you mean," she said thoughtfully. "A most unusual child."

"I saw an article in the morning paper about stolen babies," Laura remarked. "I wondered if there could be a connection."

Lady Longtree nodded. "Yes. I saw the article too. I suppose we must contact the authorities," she added reluctantly. "I dislike the prospect of involving them, but it should probably be done. Though why anyone..."

Her words were cut off by the baby. Opening its mouth as wide as it would go, it screamed lustily. The sound was appalling in the echoing space.

Lady Longtree handed the infant hastily back to Laura. "Perhaps it's more familiar with your face," she muttered apologetically.

"Let's get out of here," William said fervently, and headed for the stairs at a run, his hands over his ears. Laura followed, jiggling the baby in a vain effort to console it.

When she reached the big doors, William was trying to fit a long, old-fashioned key into the keyhole. "Found it on the floor near here," he yelled over the baby's howls. "It doesn't seem to work on these doors, though." Laura wondered if the cleaning woman had dropped the key and maybe the paper she had found earlier, but she didn't bother to communicate her thought. Talk was impossible in this racket.

Shoving the key in his pocket, William pounded on the door with one hand. The other covered an ear. Lady Longtree whacked with her umbrella. "Harder," she ordered when there was no response. William abandoned his ear and pounded two-fisted. Laura kicked. Their prolonged battering – ably abetted by the child's howls – eventually produced a man wearing the uniform of a ticket attendant. He looked astonished, and furious.

"What are you doing in there?" he demanded. "No one is permitted in the Baths. Out – right away!"

"Nonsense," Lady Longtree replied scathingly. "There was a baby to be rescued.

"Not the sort I like to deal with," she added sotto voce to Laura and William as she swept past the indignant guard. "Perhaps we can find someone more congenial outside."

They must make an odd sight, Laura thought as they emerged into the crowded square: two figures dripping black water, one carrying a screaming baby that smelled like a latrine, and a third very imposing figure, despite its small size, leaning on an umbrella, which seemed to function as a walking stick as well as a battering ram and boat.

"I can take the child to the police station and explain the situation," Laura offered. "Maybe they will even have a diaper. I am sure they'll be able to find the mother without much difficulty from flight records."

"A nappy, they are called here," Lady Longtree told her gently. "And yes, that seems an excellent idea. This place is quite confusing just now."

"It certainly is," Laura agreed. She saw no sign of the burned car, but the square was covered with barriers and tape that said police line do not cross, in endless lines. The policemen guarding them looked harassed and anxious. No doubt they wondered why anyone would stand as close as possible to the barriers when another bomb might go off at any moment.

More to the point, there might not be anyone at the police station. They were all here. Lady Longtree confirmed the thought.

"We will do better to find help here instead," she declared. "The policeman over there is a detective inspector, I believe, and he might be interested in this case. He has a good face at any rate."

Screwing up her courage, Laura approached him. He met her halfway, looking furious despite the pleasant face. "The Baths are closed," he told her. "May I ask who you are and why you were in there?"

Laura decided to go on the offensive. "I wonder if you could help me," she countered. "I went into the Baths before the closure was announced, and found this baby left on the rocks on the lower level. I would like to see that it is returned to its mother."

The policeman stared at her, taken aback. "You found a baby in the Baths? Are you quite sure?"

"Of course I am," Laura answered crossly over the infant's cries. "I would not say so otherwise."

The policeman snatched the child from Laura's arms and probed its wrappings with careful fingers. She watched, appalled. He was searching for a bomb.

Satisfied that there were no hard objects wrapped around the baby, the detective thrust it back at Laura. Inexplicably, it had stopped screaming but the smell was worse than ever.

He wrote her name and the place where she was staying in a little notebook and then signaled to a young policewoman standing nearby. She trotted over obediently.

"This is Sergeant Prescott, my assistant," he told Laura. "If you will go with her, she will give you all the help you need."

Sergeant Prescott gave him a sour look, possibly wondering why she was being saddled with the smelly baby detail instead of the more interesting bomb search, but she did as she was told.

"We have some emergency supplies at the station – food and nappies and so on," she told Laura without much enthusiasm. "Once we have the baby fixed up I can take your statement. Perhaps a towel and something hot to drink for you." She didn't offer to take the baby, which had resumed its howls.

Someone pointed a camera at Laura and clicked. A mental image of the picture flashed into her mind: an American woman with soaking wet hair and soggy clothes standing outside the Roman Baths during a bomb scare in England, holding a stolen baby in her arms while being interrogated by two suspicious police officers. How had she got into such a ridiculous situation?

By being much too curious and getting involved in problems that were none of her business, her ex-husband would say scathingly. Thomas, the charming if enigmatic art detective who had shared her adventures last summer would say much the same thing but with admiration instead of derision. She wished he was here.

The two officers stepped aside to exchange a few words, and Laura looked for Lady Longtree and William. They were nowhere in sight, and she was surprised. They had seemed so friendly, and she hadn't expected Lady Longtree especially to desert her. Perhaps it was because she didn't like getting involved with the police.

Sergeant Prescott came up behind her. "This way," she said, taking a firm grip on Laura's elbow and steering her in the other direction. "It's not far."

Laura obeyed, aware that people were staring at her. No doubt they assumed she was involved in the bomb scare. How did one go about proving non-involvement? One woman especially seemed unable to tear her eyes away...

"The mother!" she gasped. "Over there – it's the mother!"

Another shock followed. Just behind the woman were Lady Longtree and William.
CHAPTER THREE

Sergeant Prescott turned to look in the direction of Laura's pointing finger. "The mother?" she asked in bewilderment. "You mean the baby's mother?"

"Yes," Laura answered. Wrenching her arm from the policewoman's grip, she sprinted toward the woman. The Sergeant pounded after her.

Fear transfigured the mother's face as she watched them. She turned and ran. Despite her bulky clothing she moved fast, and she quickly disappeared into the maze of narrow, twisting streets around the square.

Laura stopped, frustrated. There was no hope of finding the mother if she didn't want to be found. But why would a mother run away from her own child? Had the police frightened her?

The Sergeant grabbed Laura's arm again and held on tight until they were inside her office in the police station. Suspicion exuded from every pore of her stiff body. Picking up a phone, she asked someone to come for the baby and supplied Laura with the promised towel and cup of coffee. It smelled as if it had been brewing since early morning, but it was hot and Laura drank it gratefully.

"First, I need information about you, who you are and what brings you to this country," the Sergeant instructed when the baby had been borne away. "I shall need your passport too. Then I would like to know everything you can tell me about this baby, how and where you found it, and why you thought the woman you saw in the square was its mother."

Obediently, Laura handed over her passport, a professional card identifying her as Dr. Laura Morland, explained that she was a professor of gender studies in New York and had come to England to teach a seminar in Oxford, as well as to walk and do some sightseeing. Next she launched into an account of seeing the baby with its family at the airport, and then finding it in the Baths.

Sergeant Prescott frowned skeptically and began to pepper her with rapid-fire questions like who had hidden the child in the Baths and why, and whether the cleaning woman had been the baby's mother or the woman in the square. When she didn't get the answers she seemed to want, she asked the questions again from a different perspective, until Laura felt dizzy with denials. Clearly, the policewoman didn't believe she was just an innocent bystander.

"I saw an article in the newspaper about an international organization that steals babies, and I wondered if there's a connection with this baby," Laura said finally, hoping the comment would divert suspicion from her. "I also wondered if there could be a connection between the baby's presence in the Bath and the bomb scare."

"What makes you think that?" Sergeant Prescott snapped.

Laura shrugged. "It's such a coincidence that both should occur on the same day. I thought the bomb scare might have been a way to make sure no one was in the Baths until... Well, I suppose until the baby had been picked up by whoever was supposed to take it away, but then I came along and fouled things up."

The Sergeant looked thoughtful, and for a moment she seemed to forget her interrogator role. "That is certainly possible," she murmured, more to herself than to Laura. "I wonder..."

Her thought was interrupted by knock on the door. A young constable who looked no more than fifteen came in, expertly cradling a now contented baby. It was sucking greedily at a bottle. When it saw Laura it promptly spat out the nipple and began to scream again.

"After all I did for you," Laura joked to the child. The comment fell flat. Neither the constable nor the Sergeant smiled.

"Made an appointment at the clinic," the constable informed Sergeant Prescott. "Just in case. Had a hard time, poor little mite."

"I thought the baby might have been drugged," Laura volunteered, and could have bitten off her tongue. The police would probably think she was trying to disclaim any responsibility if drugs were found in the baby's system.

To her surprise and the Sergeant's obvious disapproval, the constable agreed. "I thought that myself," he told her. "What made you think so?"

"The baby seemed to fall asleep at odd moments," Laura answered. "It would start screaming, a normal reaction considering what was happening to it, then fall asleep as if it couldn't help itself. I also wondered if the drug had affected its stomach. The smell seemed unusually strong."

"Yes, that's what I noticed," the constable replied. "She was quite a stinker. Still, I think most of it has come through, if you take my meaning."

"She? It's a girl then? I wonder if the other one is too," Laura mused.

Sergeant Prescott resumed control of the interview. "I believe we have all the information we need for the moment, Dr. Morland," she told Laura. "You can leave the matter in our hands now. We may have more questions for you, however, and I need to know how to reach you."

Laura provided the necessary information and left with a sigh of relief. They hadn't taken her fingerprints or kept her passport, so maybe they didn't really suspect her of stealing the baby. Regardless, she intended to leave the puzzle in their competent hands and get on with her trip.

She consulted her watch. In a few hours she would meet her fellow travelers on the bus tour she had decided to join after she finished the Cotswold Way. Walking trips left no time for sight-seeing, she had discovered - unless one could walk at the marathon pace of British ramblers, who were reputed to manage three castles before lunch. She could not. Besides, sitting peacefully on a bus while someone else drove and handled the logistics sounded wonderfully peaceful. All she had to do for the next few days was watch scenery and enjoy the sights.

After that, she would head for Oxford to teach her seminar. Recently, she had compiled a series of lectures on the effects of religious and political turmoil on women's status across the world today. Since her field was the evolution of gender stretching back more than a million years, this was a more contemporary issue than she'd tackled before and she was anxious to see how the material would be received, particularly its most tragic aspects like slavery and the excesses of fundamentalism like stoning women to death for presumed adultery.

A more pleasurable interlude would follow – a long weekend with Thomas, her co-adventurer from last summer.

An old man with rheumy eyes and shabby clothes came up to her as she passed the Baths again on her way back to the B&B. Laura was almost certain she had seen him before, crouched against the stone wall that bordered the Baths.

"Excuse me, Miss," he murmured.

Laura hesitated, torn between an urgent desire to get out of her still soggy clothes and a long-standing inability to be rude to panhandlers. Reluctance to walk away won, and she reached into her pocket for some spare change. Even if it went for a drink, it would make him happy for a bit at least.

"No," he said clearly, "not money. It's about the ba -"

A middle-aged woman ran up and grabbed his arm before he could finish his sentence. "Come along now, Joe," she instructed. "No talking to strangers, you know that. Time to go home."

The apologetic smile she gave Laura was conspiratorial, as if they shared an understanding of how peculiar old people could become. Laura was irritated. All her sympathies were with the old man. Besides, he clearly knew something about the baby and she wanted to hear what it was.

"It's all right," she told the woman stiffly, and turned to Joe with a smile. "I'll be glad to hear what you have to say, Joe," she assured him. The woman looked appalled and hustled him away before he could reply.

Laura followed at a discreet distance and made a mental note of the house they entered. She would come back and talk to Joe when he was alone.

This was the same area where the mother had disappeared, she realized. Maybe she could find her again and get her to talk – this time without a policewoman on her heels and a howling baby in her arms.

A lanky figure turned into the street ahead of her. William?

Laura hurried after him. Definitely William. She saw him stop in front of one door, then another, and try to open them with the key he'd found in the Baths.

"William!" she called. He turned and smiled.

"Hi, Laura," he said cheerfully. "My grandmother and I heard you say the woman in the square was the mother, so we followed her. I'm pretty sure she went into one of the houses on this street, so I thought I'd try the key I found in a few doors. It's the wrong kind, though. Too old-fashioned." He held it out.

Laura smiled back, delighted to know that he and Lady Longtree hadn't deserted her but had instead been trying to help. "Thanks!" she said. "I wonder what the key goes to," she added, examining it.

"I think it's for that rusty door at the back of the springs you couldn't open," William said. "That's the only door I can think of that's old enough. Someone has cleaned up the key, too. See those scrape marks, as if they did it with steel wool or sandpaper?" William pointed to some vague marks that Laura discovered she could barely discern without her glasses.

"I'll take your word for it," she told him. "Your eyes are a lot better than mine."

"Maybe the person oiled the door, too," William went on. "It would be interesting to find out. Doors can look rusty and old and still work."

Laura nodded. "Worth a try - unless we have to climb back down that wall to get to the door," she amended hastily.

"I know how to get to it from the other side," William assured her. "If the key works, we can get in that way."

Abruptly, Laura remembered the paper in her pocket. "I found this piece of paper near where you found the key," she explained, pulling it out. "I think the cleaning woman I saw running away might have dropped both of them. Maybe they fell out of her pocket but she was in too much of a hurry to stop and look for them."

She smoothed out the paper. "It looks like a sketch of the underground space in the Baths, and there's some writing. Not English, though."

William peered over her shoulder. "Definitely the Baths," he pronounced. "That black dot probably marks the place where you found the baby. And I think the writing is Arabic – all drawings and squiggles. I've seen it before."

A door opened further up the street and a man stepped out, cigarette in hand. His eyes flicked in her direction and Laura drew back hastily. "I think that's the baby's father," she hissed. "I don't want him to see me. He might remember me from the airport and wonder why I'm prowling around."

William reacted instantly. Taking her arm as if they were out for a casual stroll, he led her in the other direction. "Let's duck into that alley and watch," he whispered.

The man stood on the doorstep smoking. Definitely the father, Laura saw from her hiding place. He didn't look again in her direction but she had the impression that he had indeed seen her, perhaps recognized her from the airport.

She watched as he ground out his cigarette with one heel and sauntered toward a woman who had just turned the corner into the street. For a moment Laura thought she was the mother. The resemblance was very strong. Then she realized that this woman was much younger, more girl than woman. A niece perhaps?

The girl's steps slowed as the father came closer, and Laura thought she looked frightened. Then, seeming to regain courage, she thrust her chin in the air and nodded coolly at the man as they passed. He reached out to touch her and made a remark Laura couldn't hear, though she suspected it was lewd. Shrinking away from him, the girl walked quickly up the house he had just left.

"I'm going to try to talk to her," Laura whispered. "A woman is better, I think."

William nodded. "I'll watch from here."

As soon as the father was out of sight, Laura ran up to the girl and touched her lightly on the arm. "Excuse me," she said politely. "I wonder if you know the woman whose baby I found..."

The young woman whirled. "You are the one who found her!" she breathed, and her hands flew to her face. "May Allah bless you for what you have done. But you must not be here, he must not see you."

"The father you mean?"

The young woman looked alarmed. "How do you know..." she faltered.

"I saw them in New York, at the airport," Laura explained hastily. "That's how I knew who the baby was, and I wanted to return it to its mother."

"Allah is with us, that you should see them even there," she girl said brokenly. "But you must not speak. Please, I beg you, they must keep her. She cannot return, not yet..."

"The police must keep the baby, you mean?"

The girl looked down the street the other way, and her eyes widened with fear. "I must go inside! She is coming."

Laura followed her gaze and saw an older woman in a black headscarf and long coat coming around the corner. Not the father, but perhaps his mother. Matriarchs could inspire fear too.

"Thank you for telling me how to get to the square," she said loudly to the girl as the older woman approached. "I will remember your directions. Goodbye." The girl sent her a grateful look and turned to go inside.

Nodding pleasantly to the older woman, Laura walked back to the alley. She heard the old woman question the girl sharply in a strange language and the younger woman's placating reply, and hoped her ruse had worked. The girl had been brave to talk to her at all.

"What did the girl say?" William whispered as she approached.

"That the mother wants the baby to stay with the police. I think it's because they're terrified of the father."

William's face lit up. "Let's watch until he comes back and see if we can find out," he said eagerly. "I'll pretend to be a salesman of some kind and get him talking. I'll bet he's the type of man who loves to boast about himself."

Laura was impressed. For someone so young that was a perceptive observation. The salesman idea was another matter.

"You don't look much like a salesman," she objected with a dubious look at William's soggy trousers and spiky hair. "You haven't got anything to sell, either. Besides, I don't like the look of that man. There's a predatory feeling about him."

She shivered. "I'm too cold to stand here much longer, anyway."

"I'm cold too," William admitted, hugging his arms around his chest and jumping up and down to get warm. "I'll dream up a good costume and come back later. I'm quite clever at foreign accents and disguises. They'll never know who I am."

Laura forced back a laugh. William in disguise, rings, hair, studs and all, would make an interesting sight. "For now, let's just get warm," she said.

William nodded. "Maybe we can get together later, so my grandmother can see that paper you found," he suggested as they headed for the square. "I know she'd be interested. If you can make it, that is," he added politely. "We're staying at the Royal Hotel."

"Easy," Laura replied. "I'm coming there anyway. My tour group meets at the Royal for lunch at one o'clock." She consulted her watch and was surprised to see that it wasn't yet noon. She felt as if a whole day had passed since she went into the Baths.

William looked delighted. "Our tour has lunch there too, so maybe we're on the same one." He grinned. "That would be great! Make it easier for us to do more detecting. I'm pretty sure they're taking us to the Baths this afternoon, so we could try out the key."

"Mine is too," Laura confirmed, "so we must be on the same one. That's why I went to the Baths this morning," she confided. "I wanted peace and quiet to absorb the atmosphere and get my own impressions before hearing all the facts from a guide. Things didn't work out exactly as planned," she added ruefully.

"Guess not," William agreed. "We had a great time, though. It'll be even better this time, now that we have the key. I'll do that part. I already know all the stuff the guide will tell us, so I'll sneak away from the group and try the key while you listen and distract the others. My grandmother knows that stuff, too, so she can help. No one ever dares to stop her from doing weird things," he said with a grin.

Laura laughed. "I bet they don't," she agreed. "The place I'm staying is around the corner, so I'm off. See you shortly."

Waving goodbye, she hurried back to her B & B and headed at a trot for her room on the second floor. Fortunately her landlady was out, so she didn't have to explain why her clothes and boots were once again wet and filthy despite the clear weather.

At the top of the stairs, she almost collided with a tall and very elegant young man. His manicured appearance made Laura feel like a drowned rat.

"Sorry," she mumbled, squeezing past him in the narrow space. His smile was polite, but she could see that he was annoyed. Leaning down, he wiped pointedly at his elegant pinstripe suit and the perfectly pressed shirt cuffs that extended from it.

Probably got a spot of wet on them, Laura thought sourly. "Fell into a puddle," she snapped, and stomped down the hall. He stared after her, shook his head as if to clear it, and proceeded down the stairs.

"Snob!" Laura muttered to herself as she unlocked her door. The room had a medicinal smell, irritating her further. The maid must have used a disinfectant spray when she straightened the room. She hadn't done a very good job, either. The coverlet looked rumpled and one pillow was on the floor.

Now for a hot shower and some clean clothes. Laura went to the closet, glad she had taken the time to hang everything up neatly last night. She felt bedraggled enough as it was, and going to this first meeting of the tour group in crumpled clothes would only make her feel worse.

She opened the closet door and gaped in dismay. Shirts, slacks, skirts and everything else – even her favorite outfit, the multi-colored jacket and flowing skirt she had planned to wear tonight - lay in a tangled pile on the floor.
CHAPTER FOUR

Laura shook her head, unbelieving. It looked as if someone had searched through her clothes and been interrupted before managing to hang them up again. But who would do that? Someone who knew she'd taken the baby and didn't like it? But she had only found it a few hours ago. No one could find out where she was staying and get here that fast. How could they get in anyway? The front door was kept locked and only guests were given a key.

It was more likely that a maid or other employee had been looking for valuables, Laura decided. If so, the thief was out of luck. Her passport and money were in the pack on her back, and there was nothing more valuable in the room than a few pieces of costume jewelry. None had been taken, which suggested the burglar had given her up as a bad bet and gone on to the next room.

A long hot shower improved Laura's mood considerably. She slipped on a black pant and tunic set of non-crushable fabric that had survived its time on the floor best and twisted her tenaciously curly auburn hair into a pile on her head. Adding a brilliant scarf and some small but dangly earrings so she wouldn't look impossibly conservative, which wasn't at all her style, she headed for the Royal Hotel.

The first person she saw was Lady Longtree, standing near the hotel door in another even more improbable hat, this one a wide-brimmed floral affair.

"We followed the mother but as you know, she eluded us," Lady Longtree confided in a husky whisper. "Still, you and William seem to have found the right house since you saw the father and a young woman who knows the mother.

"William adores detecting, if not babies, so I left him to it," she added. "I rather like it myself." She frowned. "I am also quite curious about that particular baby."

"I am too. The Baths seems such a strange place to leave it."

"I suppose it's because of all those women," Lady Longtree said vaguely. "They clean the bathrooms in tourist attractions and can get in. I cannot help but wonder -"

"I'm so very glad, my dear, that you are on the tour," she interrupted herself, to Laura's frustration. She wanted to know what Lady Longtree meant by all those women.

"I'm glad you and William are on it, too," she agreed. "I've never joined a tour before and I'm a bit nervous. Knowing two people already is a great help."

"I have also been anxious about it," Lady Longtree confided, "especially with William in tow. Teenagers are so expert at dissecting adults, don't you think? The trouble is that they're not always as polite about it as we were taught to be, and the consequences can be hard to predict. Still, he seemed to like the idea. Antiquities and New Age in one package. I expect we'll see a lot of that sort of thing in Glastonbury."

Laura laughed. Glastonbury, where they would go next, was known as a mecca for occultists, new age types and mystics, standing as it did on the reputed site of the first Christian Church as well as being the place where the legendary Arthur and Guinevere were thought to be buried.

"We can compare notes," she said with a smile. "I'll be very interested to hear what William thinks about our fellow participants. He is very perceptive."

"He is indeed," Lady Longtree agreed. "I am sorry, my dear, that we left you to deal with the police alone," she added apologetically. "I can't bear publicity. If you have a lady attached to your name, people feel they can say the most outrageous things about you. And then, of course, there is William..."

She broke off as William came into view. "Off you go, my dear, and we'll join you in a moment," she instructed, waving Laura toward the room where the luncheon was being held. Laura obeyed. One just did obey Lady Longtree, she reflected.

Everyone was milling about looking self-conscious, as people always did in these circumstances. Turning to the nearest person, Laura introduced herself.

She immediately wished she hadn't. The man, who announced that he was Dr. Ludwig Bernstein, looked exactly as she had always imagined a mad psychiatrist might look. He was short, not fat but definitely sturdy, had dark skin, a dark pointed beard and intense olive eyes that bored into hers. When he explained at some length that he was a pediatrician turned child psychiatrist who had a particular interest in the subconscious and the occult and children's latent ability to tap into them, she almost choked. It was much too easy to visualize him in an old science fiction movie, doing experiments on his unsuspecting clients. He even had the right accent. German, she thought, which turned out to be correct as well. He also used a distinctive and cloying aftershave. Laura massaged her nose surreptitiously, and managed not to sneeze.

An extremely attractive woman came up beside them and Dr. Bernstein introduced her as his wife, Claudine. Her accent was different; Laura placed it as French, possibly because Claudine looked exactly like her internal picture of a Parisian woman. Everything about her was elegant; her clothes were perfectly cut, her hair perfectly coiffed, her make-up discreetly applied. Only a few lines of disillusionment and discontent marred her otherwise lovely face.

They made desultory conversation until another participant joined them. He was small and neat, with white hair belied by a youthful face. His sharp blue eyes were in constant motion, seeming to take in everything that was going on around him even as he made charming conversation. He was from Switzerland, and his name was Hans Gruber. When he heard that Laura had just finished a walking trip, he told her she must come to his villa in the mountains of Switzerland to walk next summer.

"Switzerland is the most beautiful country in the world," he enthused. "We have snow-covered mountains, valleys filled with flowers and lakes, and trains or busses or cable cars to take you to the high places, so you do not have to climb all the way. You are on the top from the very beginning, and the world spreads out around you."

He gestured expansively, almost upsetting the tray of drinks that had appeared at his elbow. "Let me know when you come and I will show you it all," he promised, taking a mug of beer.

"I may do that," Laura replied. "I won't forget." She wouldn't, either. Switzerland was definitely on her list for walking places she wanted to visit.

The tour director, Alan Mansfield, a handsome man in his forties, came to greet her, bringing in his wake three women who had gathered around him like bees drawn to honey. He introduced everyone with an easy patter that covered each person's status and interests. The two younger women were English, medical technicians at the same hospital who loved gardens especially, Laura gathered; the third woman came from Japan and was interested in photography, as was her taciturn husband.

Alan Mansfield was very good at his job, Laura decided, watching him circle the room to chat amiably with each of his clients. He charmed the women but was careful not to be too attentive, lest his intentions be misconstrued. The men seemed eager to impress him. The same kind of competitive masculinity she saw in apes was at work, Laura suspected, with each male jockeying for status.

The tour director appeared at her elbow again, this time without his retinue of eager followers. "You had an unusual experience in the Baths, I heard," he said quietly. "I hope it didn't distress you unduly."

Laura was horrified. Did all these people know about the baby? What an appalling way to start a trip!

"No, it didn't," she answered, "but I do hope the story doesn't get about. Being known as the woman who found the baby in the Baths could get tedious."

"I don't think anyone here is aware of your involvement," he assured her. "The only reason I know is because the guide who will take us through the Baths this afternoon told me what had happened."

"Are the Baths open again?" Laura asked.

"Yes. I gather they think the call about the bomb was made to keep people out of the Baths until the baby had been picked up, but you foiled the plan."

"I'm glad they don't have me down as a baby-stealer any more," Laura said. "When I was in the police station I was afraid they did."

Alan Mansfield smiled sympathetically. "Of course they don't," he assured her, "but if there is any further trouble, please come to me. We are here to help."

"Thank you." Laura was grateful. She didn't understand the British police system, and a sympathetic local ear would be welcome.

"At any rate, I shall do my best to see that the story does not get around," the director went on. "Probably the less that is said about it, the sooner people will forget," he added smoothly, which Laura suspected was a polite way of telling her not to talk about it either.

"I intend to put the whole matter out of my mind and concentrate on the tour," she assured him.

Alan Mansfield nodded. "Excellent. I am sure the case will be resolved very soon anyway. The police here are very good." With another reassuring smile, he went off to tend once more to the others.

Feeling that she had earned a break, Laura retired to a corner to watch her fellow travelers. It would be interesting to see if her initial impressions of these people held up. As a start, she suspected that although Alan Mansfield was careful, he wasn't averse to a pleasant romance if one came his way without complications. She wondered which woman he would choose, or more likely, who would choose him. Her bet was on one of the young medical technicians, who were both rosily pretty despite a few extra pounds, maybe even the lovely and discontented Claudine, if he was sure he could get away with it and she seemed cooperative.

Another person appeared in the doorway and stood observing the group. Laura watched her curiously, wondering who she was. She was almost six feet tall, had a mop of unruly dark red hair and an intent gaze that made Laura think of a friendly hawk, perhaps because of her yellow-brown eyes. Laugh lines decorated her face and she had the ungainly look of a colt despite middle age.

Their eyes met and the woman smiled, a quirky smile that told Laura they intuitively understood each other. She smiled back, delighted. It was rare for her to feel that instant rapport with another woman, and when it happened she treasured it. She looked forward to getting to know the red-headed stranger.

Alan Mansfield called everyone to the table, and as they consumed an excellent lunch, he provided an informative and interesting overview of the sites they were to visit and the philosophy of the tours he ran. "We call this a limited, independent tour," he told them. "Independent means that escorted activities are always available but there is no compulsion to join them. I will point out, however, that our clients find the background information we provide as we go through each attraction quite valuable.

"Limited means that we restrict the number of people to fifteen, and we limit the tour to the attractions in this area that most appealed to you in the survey we sent out. That way, we can set a leisurely pace and spend more time at each place. I will also note that our schedule is flexible. If it rains, we focus on indoor activities, on fine days we concentrate on the gardens, which are particularly popular with most of you."

Laura was pleased. Those were exactly the reasons she had selected this tour, and it was good to hear them confirmed. Rushing from one place to the next in a huge group held no appeal. No one could feel atmosphere that way. An added inventive had been the surprisingly low cost.

Alan answered a few questions and distributed a detailed itinerary. From Bath they went to Glastonbury and stayed for two nights to see the various attractions; three nights in a well-known manor house followed. Those days would be spent visiting nearby attractions like Stourhead Gardens, Longleat House and Safari Park, and the ancient city of Wells, where they would attend a rehearsal performance of the famous Cathedral Choir. A final day in Bath and a concluding dinner completed the tour.

A brief description of the people on the tour, based on information each had provided, was also included. They were well done, Laura thought, scanning them. They told her more about each person's interests and background and would serve as a valuable shortcut to establishing friendly relations. The unknown red-haired woman wasn't on the list, she saw, and wondered why.

She glanced at her own profile and found it accurate if embellished with superlatives she hadn't provided. Professor at a well-known American University, she read, whose course on gender evolution was a resounding success last summer. This summer she will teach a new course on the effects of religious and political turmoil on women's status today. Dr. Morland has spent the last year conducting research on this very topical issue.

Alan's voice recalled her. "This afternoon, we are taking those who wish to join us to the Roman Baths, the Museum of Costume and Bath Abbey. Elise Brown, who is an authority on all these sites, will conduct the group. I recommend that you take advantage of her expertise. There is also the benefit of not having to stand in line since immediate admission is included in the tour and we are expected."

He consulted his watch. "Coffee will be served on the terrace, and at two thirty, we leave for the Roman Baths. It is only a short walk from here, but the van is always available if anyone wishes to ride. Just let me know.

"Thank you everyone for listening."

A polite smattering of applause followed, and then they filed outside into the charming little terrace off the dining room.

The red-haired woman was sipping a cup of coffee and Laura joined her. "Quite a pet, isn't he?" the woman said, gesturing toward the psychiatrist. "He's so perfect for the role one wants to reach out and pat him. And the wife - now there's a study in frustration." Her voice was low and gruff, and very pleasant.

Laura grinned. "Do you suppose there's any truth in the theory that psychiatrists go into the field because they're a bit crazy themselves?"

"Or terrified of being crazy," came the prompt answer. "By the way, I'm Violet, Violet McLarty. Ridiculous, I know, I mean the Violet part, and you are permitted to laugh. My dear misguided Mum apparently thought I looked like one as an infant. Little did she know how overgrown her darling little plant would turn out to be."

Laura did laugh. "Once I had a student called Primrose. She was skinny as a rail, over six feet tall and black as an olive. She had pink and yellow t-shirts made with: I am a Primrose inside printed on them."

Violet emitted a hearty guffaw that drew all eyes in their direction. "That's what I should do, except mine would say: No shrinking Violet here!

"I think Violet is a great name," Laura commented. "I wish I had a name with some character, but mine's very ordinary. I'm Laura Morland."

Violet looked suddenly embarrassed. "Uh oh," she said gloomily.

"Why uh oh?" Laura asked.

"I'm a late arrival," Violet confessed. "I really want to come on the trip but Alan tells me there are no more rooms at this late date, and he'll have to see if the person with an extra bed in the room will share. That's you, if I remember correctly, and I hate asking favors of someone I already like."

"Let's stop worrying about it and give it a try," Laura suggested.

"Do you really mean that? I'm actually a great roommate as I'm almost never there," Violet added candidly. "You can have the bathroom first too. I've also managed to get a room for some nights, including tonight."

They grinned at each other. "It's a bargain," Laura said.

They stood in companionable silence until people began to file out of the room. "Time for the Baths," Laura said. "Are you going?"

Violet nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, despite a generic dislike of groups. We'll get special treatment, get in right away to the exhibits and so forth. I gather that Elise is very well-informed, too. How about you?"

Laura nodded. She hadn't been able to examine the Baths properly this morning and she wanted to see if the key worked. She didn't want to miss the Museum of Costume and the Abbey, either.

She and Violet were about to cross the street to the Baths entrance when a dark car roared past them. It looked completely out of control. Pedestrians scattered, but one elderly man was unable to get out of the way in time. With a sickening thump, the car sent him tumbling into the street. Gunning its engines, it sped away again.

A group of people gathered around the old man. "Ambulance," a woman called to a man with a cell phone. Nodding, the man punched in numbers. Within moments, an ambulance careened to a stop, and two medics leaped out. A police car was right behind them. Pushing through the crowd, the medics did a quick but thorough examination, placed the man gently on a stretcher and slid him into the back. With a slam of doors, they were off again, leaving the policemen to question people and disperse the crowds.

Laura heard the murmur of conversations around her. "Ran him right down, the car did, almost looked as if it was aiming for him, and then took off. The old man never had a chance, did he? I mean, some of these drivers..."

"Poor old sod," said another woman. "He was just standing there, and it came at him so fast. Couldn't have got out of the way. Imagine, here in Bath, right after that bomb scare. And the baby being found in there, too. Don't know what this world is coming to..."

Laura closed her eyes, feeling sick. Surely, though, it wasn't possible. No one would run down an old man just because he had tried to talk to her.

She was aware that Violet had taken her arm. "You need to sit down," she said firmly, and led Laura over to a low stone wall.

"Thanks," Laura mumbled weakly. "I was just startled, I guess." Violet looked at her skeptically but made no comment.

Laura took deep breaths and waited for her head to clear. Surely, there was more than one old man in Bath. Why should she jump to such a ridiculous conclusion?

She stood up again determinedly. "I'm all right now," she said. "We better hurry. They're all lined up already."

"They can wait another minute or two," Violet commented, but she didn't try to stop Laura as she made her way toward the group.

Alan Mansfield came up to her. "That wasn't what you needed just now," he said, his voice concerned. "I am so sorry. Nothing for you to worry about, though," he added. "Just a hit and run case, I gather. A rather disreputable old man who hangs around the Baths and didn't look where he was going."

"What was his name?" Laura asked, unable to stop herself, unable to think, either, why she had used the past tense.

The tour director looked at her in surprise. "I'm not sure," he answered. "He was called Joe, I think, but that is all I know."
CHAPTER FIVE

Laura tried hard to concentrate as Elise explained the history of the Baths and the meaning of the various displays that filled the rooms, but she couldn't get her mind off Joe and the possibility that he had been run down on purpose. He had tried to tell her something about the baby and been dragged away, and then he had been the victim of a hit and run attack. Could that be sheer coincidence?

They filed into a dark corridor with large glass panes, and Laura realized with surprise that she was staring down into the springs from a point opposite the platform where she'd stood this morning. The rusted door was right in front of her.

She looked around for William but couldn't see him anywhere. Had he decided not to come? He had seemed so eager to try the key earlier. How disappointing!

"Excuse me, M'am," a voice said at her elbow. A tall man in coveralls inserted a key in the lock, nodded with satisfaction, and gave the door a push. It opened easily.

"Oiled," the man said briefly.

Laura looked up at his face. "William," she breathed.

"Yes, M'am," he said. "Been told to look at the stairs." Closing the door behind him, he went down, stooping to examine each step. Laura was tempted to follow, but thought better of it. Unlike William, she wasn't dressed like a repairman, and the presence of a tourist in the springs would only draw attention to him.

Lady Longtree materialized at her elbow. "His mechanic costume," she explained. "Rather good, I thought, on such short notice."

"Quite convincing," Laura murmured. "I wish I'd thought of that."

"I imagine he'll be down there for quite a while now that he's got the chance to explore," Lady Longtree went on, "though I do hope he doesn't try to get into that tunnel he spotted behind the grill. I should hate to have to go in after him if he gets stuck."

Laura shuddered. If William did get stuck, she wasn't going in after him. Panic set in at the mere thought. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary. William reappeared in his normal clothes before they left the Baths.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a confused kaleidoscope of the now familiar subterranean spaces of the Baths and the elaborate silk bustles, impossibly tiny waists and enormous hats at the Museum of Costume. After that, Elise led them back to the square through a jumble of twisting, hilly streets lined with a fantastic variety of tiny storefronts that had once housed blacksmiths and bakers and weavers.

Layers of history underlay the whole city, Elise told them. Bath had been built above the Roman settlement, which had been built on earlier settlements, back to the time of hunter-gatherers. It seemed to Laura that she could feel the pulsation of all those lives reaching up to touch her feet as they traversed the ancient lanes.

The Abbey, their last stop of the day, had similar layers of history beneath its stones. Prehistoric remains suggesting an ancient place of worship rested at the bottom; above that were two former abbeys whose fate Elise didn't enumerate. The present Abbey, according to local legend, had been built in 1499 on the site of the two former abbeys not long after the Bishop had experienced a vision of angels helping with the construction by climbing a ladder to heaven. Laura found the image delightful.

As soon as they entered the Abbey, she was aware of an aura of peace. It seemed to permeate the building, as if all those who had worshipped here in the past had found solace, as she did now, in the beauty that surrounded her. The stained glass windows and soaring ceilings were breathtaking. Then she spotted an iron grill in the stone floor near the altar and knelt to see what it covered. A dark, musty and very small tunnel was under the grill, just like the one William had wanted to use to get out of the springs - and the rat infested hole she'd crawled through last summer. Laura began to shiver, and once she started shivering, she found she couldn't stop. Jet lag and the events of the morning seemed to have caught up with her.

Oblivious of Laura's shivers, Elise was in the midst of explaining that the tunnel went under the altar and came out the other side, that it had probably once gone into the vaults beside the abbey, when Violet appeared at Laura's elbow. Lady Longtree was beside her. William hovered anxiously behind his grandmother.

"I am taking you out for tea," Violet said, too quietly for the rest of the group to hear. "I think a cup of that famously reviving beverage is in order."

Laura nodded gratefully. The tour was almost over anyway, and a strong cup of tea sounded marvelous. So did a large breath of fresh air.

Lady Longtree appraised Laura with keen blue eyes. "Perhaps a stiff drink instead," she suggested with an expressive lift of her still dark eyebrows.

Laura laughed shakily. "I don't think I have ever been so well taken care of," she said. "Thank you all!"

"Tea or drink?" Violet inserted.

"Tea first, I think, and later a drink," Laura compromised. "They both sound welcome."

The teashop they found on a side street was deserted except for a non-descript, swarthy man who came in soon after them. Settling himself familiarly at a table, he studied what looked like a racing form. After a moment he pushed through a beaded curtain into the back of the shop, presumably to phone in his bet. Laura was relieved. Right now, she wanted peace and quiet and no listening ears.

Violet was the first to speak. "I should tell you right away that I know you found the baby in the Baths this morning," she said flatly.

"Oh dear, I hope the others don't know," Laura answered. "I'd hate that."

"They don't," Lady Longtree assured her. "William and I eaves-dropped during the luncheon, and no one mentioned you. A few of them heard about a baby being found, and the bomb scare and car bomb, but they don't know any details."

"How did you find out about it, Violet?" Laura asked.

"I happened to be in the square when the three of you emerged from the Baths," Violet answered. "I heard the car bomb, saw you and a child being escorted to the police station and Lady Longtree and William scampering after an unknown woman who had obviously caught your attention. Put two and two together."

"Laura thought she was the baby's mother," William explained. "We found out where she lives. We also found out how the person who took the baby into the Baths got it down into the springs." He produced his key with a flourish. "It was on the floor in the Baths, and it fits that rusty door at the back of the springs." He grinned at Violet. "If you saw a mechanic down there examining things, it was me."

Violet laughed. "I did happen to see the mechanic, but it never occurred to me it was you. Well done!"

"Thanks!" William looked pleased. "Laura thinks a cleaning lady she saw in the Baths dropped the key, along with a piece of paper with a diagram of the Baths and some Arabic writing," he continued.

Violet's eyes widened. "How intriguing! I'd love to see that paper if you have it."

Laura produced it, and Violet examined it minutely. "Not as enlightening as we might have hoped," she said finally. "It tells someone how to drug the baby safely, when and where to leave it, and that Allah will reward her for her service."

"You mean you read Arabic?" William's face was awed.

"I work as a translator, and I go to Saudi Arabia quite often, for conferences and so forth," Violet explained. "I speak a few other languages too, so I travel a lot."

She changed the subject abruptly. "Did you find anything interesting inside the springs when you were there today?" she asked William.

William reached into his pocket and came up with a pink baby's bootie. "I guess it goes on a foot," he said, dangling it in front of them. "I didn't see the other one."

"They fall off easily," Laura said, "so it could be anywhere." She took it from William and examined it. "I think it's hand-made," she said.

"Definitely," Lady Longtree confirmed. "See those slightly uneven stitches? Machines don't do that, only people."

"Any more clues?" Violet asked dryly. "I can see I need to catch up."

"Yes," William replied casually. "After she'd finished with the police, Laura went back to the street the mother had disappeared into. I was there too, and we saw the baby's father and a girl who looks like the mother going into one of the houses. She said they're afraid of the father and want the baby to stay with the police."

Violet frowned, bewildered. "But how do you know he's the baby's father? And who its mother is, for that matter."

Laura blinked. "Of course. You haven't heard where I saw them before." Once again, she described the scene in the airport and subsequent events in the Baths. "I know the father and one of the twins are in Bath now because I've seen them. I assume the mother and the other twin are here too."

"I'll find out when I go back to the house in a good disguise," William said confidently. "I could be a mechanic again, or maybe a mullah. No one will know who I am under a turban."

"I shall wait nearby," Lady Longtree said, "just in case. People never notice an old lady with an umbrella, and if they do, they dismiss me as harmless.

"They always do," she added demurely.

Violet chuckled. "That would be their mistake, wouldn't it? I imagine you and William make a fine pair of sleuths. But do take care, William. You might find yourself in a harem, and that would be trouble." Her tone was jocular, but Laura thought there was a real warning in her eyes.

William looked intrigued, but his grandmother was more restrained. "Violet is right, William," she cautioned. "A harem would certainly be interesting, but we don't want to offend anyone. We had better find out more about the people who live there before carrying our investigations any further."

"I'll just take a peek and if anyone should see me I'll run." William assured her.

Laura regarded his enthusiastic young face warily. "I don't think going back is a good idea, William," she warned. "It could be more dangerous than you think. An old man called Joe who hangs out around the Baths tried to tell me something about the baby earlier, but before he could say anything, a woman ran up and dragged him away. And then he was knocked down by a car and taken away by ambulance.

"It happened just before Violet and I came into the Baths," she added, seeing his puzzled look. "You were probably already inside putting on your mechanic outfit. That's why I'm worried about you going back. Someone does not want people prying into whatever is going on with this baby."

William looked ashen. "You mean somebody ran down an old a guy who tried to talk to you on purpose? That's terrible! But why would anyone do that?"

"I guess because he wanted to tell me something about the baby. He might even have seen the person who took it in," Laura answered.

Violet's lips compressed. "I think you must tell the police about Joe," she told Laura. "The two incidents may not be connected – it seems so far-fetched, but tell them just the same. And about the father, and the house and the girl. After that, it really is their job, not yours. Or ours."

"I'll call as soon as I get back to the hotel," Laura promised. "It's time to get ready for dinner, anyway. And you're right, Violet. This has become a job for the police, with all due respect to the sleuthing talents of William and Lad... I mean Olivia."

"Yeah, I guess so," William conceded reluctantly, but he didn't sound convinced. Lady Longtree simply looked vague and didn't answer.

When she got back to her room, Laura called the police station as promised. Sergeant Prescott wasn't there, so she gave the information to the young constable. He asked her to come in to sign a statement in the morning, and she agreed.

That duty accomplished, she sank gratefully into the big tub in her bathroom. The warm water would soothe her frazzled nerves, she told herself, but instead it reminded her of the Baths where the Romans had soothed their bodies, and that brought the scene – and Joe - back into her mind. Sighing, she stretched out and tried to think logically, but her brain seemed unequal to the task. Maybe if she just relaxed, something would come to her. Closing her eyes, she let one group of muscles go limp, then another...

Laura sat up with a jerk as water began to fill her mouth and nostrils. She had fallen asleep! It must be almost time for the tour's introductory dinner.

A knock on the door confirmed the thought. Violet had said she would come by for a drink before they went to the restaurant.

"In a minute," Laura called, struggling into the terry cloth robe. She ran a brush through her tangled hair, to little avail as the humidity had turned it into a veritable nest, and opened the door. Violet stood on the threshold, beaming. In her hand was a chilled bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Fantastic!" Laura told her. "I fell asleep in the tub, but I'll be ready in a minute."

"Take your time," Violet said as she sat down in a fatly upholstered chair. "I'll get a start on the wine. Your kind landlady lent me a corkscrew."

Laura donned the skirt and multi-colored jacket, which had lost their wrinkles thanks to the steam in the bathroom, put on some make-up and an expensive looking jeweled belt that had actually come from a discount store, and tried again to tame her unruly hair. When she had finally succeeded in pulling it into a reasonably neat bun, she perched on the bed and took a long sip from the glass Violet handed her.

"That tastes superb!"

"Quite nice," Violet agreed, rolling a bit of the wine delicately around in her mouth before she swallowed.

Laura laughed. "I don't always gulp. It's just been an odd day."

"Odd is one word for it," Violet commented. "For tonight, however, I think we should forget about it and enjoy ourselves. You still look a bit peaky."

"I'm all right," Laura demurred. "It was just seeing the poor man lying there and knowing he had tried to talk to me. I do hope he isn't dead."

"We'll find out," Violet said grimly, and changed the subject. "Tell me more about what you do," she said. "The bit I read in the brochure sounds intriguing."

"I teach and do research on gender evolution, and recently I've done some research on more contemporary gender issues," Laura explained.

"Gender evolution?" Violet looked intrigued.

"Yes, how and why women and men got to be the way they are today as our species evolved. It's a multi-disciplinary field – anthropology, pre-history and primate studies, even paleontology – the study of human-like fossils.

"The evidence shows that women were probably our first leaders, and that our first deity was a Goddess," she added, since Violet still looked interested. "That changed when the major religions we know today were introduced by some rather nasty – and highly patriarchal - invaders from northern areas."

Violet sighed. "And it's been downhill ever since," she said mournfully.

"As well as getting worse when male-centered religions are under threat, like now," Laura agreed. "Did you know that at the most conservative estimate, three million women and children are being held as sex slaves today, and thousands more are forced into slavery every day? I think that's why I'm worried about what's going on here. If it's involved with the sex trade, things could get really nasty.

"On a lighter note," she added, feeling guilty for imposing a diatribe on Violet, who was also on vacation, "sometimes the repression of women gets so far-fetched that it pushes believers the other direction and we finally get a break."

"Let's hope that happens this time," Violet said, sounding skeptical. She looked at her watch. "I'd love to talk more about gender issues, both past and present, but I fear it's time to join the group."

Over dinner, Laura decided to sit beside Amy and Margaret since she hadn't yet talked to them. They were both blond and pretty and looked a lot alike, but they turned out to have very different personalities. Amy was talkative and sentimental. Margaret was more reserved and, Laura thought, more intelligent. She gathered that they had met through their jobs and had become good friends.

Amy produced some much-thumbed photos of her two little daughters. Margaret had a son about whom she said nothing except that he was staying with her mother. She talked about her work instead, explaining that she and Amy had recently trained as nurses with special knowledge in the care of newborns. Laura sensed that Margaret was proud of this accomplishment, but that financing the necessary education hadn't been easy for her. She also sensed a pervasive sadness in Margaret, as if something had happened to her that still caused pain. Maybe she had been through a difficult divorce, or there could be some problem with her son.

Amy and Margaret began a conversation with Hans, and Laura turned to the Japanese couple on her other side. "Is this your first trip to England?" she asked.

"Not the first, but this is the only tour we have taken here," Mrs. Takara answered with a merry laugh, and proceeded to talk enthusiastically about everything she had seen. She also wanted to know all about Laura, where she came from and what she did, how she had come to be on this tour, and listened with keen interest to her answers.

Mr. Takara, in contrast, was glum and uncommunicative, except to berate his diminutive wife for asking too many questions. Laura's hackles went up, but Mrs. Takara didn't seem to mind his criticism. "I am too curious, as he says," she agreed with a small giggle. "He is right in all things, my husband, and he is a fine photographer."

Mr. Takara brightened, and produced a few photos to prove the point. Laura found them surprisingly fuzzy considering the excellent equipment he described at some length. She was no expert in photography but she had learned enough from her son, who was, to know that the pictures he showed her weren't very good.

Mrs. Takara enjoyed taking pictures too and pulled out a few to show Laura, but Mr. Takara stopped her. "They are not good enough," he told her bluntly. Meekly, his wife put them away again. Laura felt like slugging Mr. Takara. Perhaps, though, that was the way relationships were in Japan.

The next morning, she headed to the police station to sign her statement. On the way, she passed a knitting shop. Laura rummaged in her pockets and came up with the pink bootie. A bell tinkled in the back when she opened the door, and a pleasant white-haired woman appeared. Laura held out the bootie.

"I wonder if by any chance you know who knit this, so I can return it to her," she asked with a smile. "That's probably a ridiculous request, considering all the people who must pass through the store, but I thought I would try anyway."

"Usually it would be a hard question," the woman agreed, "but in this case, I happen to know. The client who bought this wool has twins. One tends to notice when people need enough wool for four booties instead of two, and double of everything else. One remembers twins, too. They're an adorable pair.

"There's another reason, too... Oh dear, it isn't right I suppose to talk about it..." She stopped, biting her lip uncertainly.

"The other reason?" Laura prompted.

The words came out in a rush. "It was only this morning, and it did upset me so. Her poor face was so bruised, and one of her eyes was almost shut. As soon as she came in here, her brute of a husband lunged in after her and hauled her out again. I can't get over the feeling that she wanted me to help her, that maybe she didn't know anyone else to turn to, but what could I do? In that culture, the men can do what they like."

Laura winced. It seemed impossible to escape the issues that took so much of her time and attention. Everywhere she turned some poor woman was being abused, which spoke volumes about the extent of the problem.

"Spousal abuse is a terrible problem," she agreed, "and not just in that culture. It's everywhere, I'm afraid. I'm a researcher in the field, so I understand."

Relief flooded the woman's face. "Oh, I am glad I told you, then. You'll know what to do, how to help her. Poor woman, she looks so exhausted all the time."

"I'll do my best," Laura promised, but she left the store feeling oppressed. She had no idea what resources were available to the mother in England. Then she realized that the police would know. She could report the spousal abuse problem when she signed her statement, and leave the rest to them.

********************

Feeling a little lighter in spirit when she had accomplished that unpleasant task, Laura hurried to rejoin the group. She found them gazing up at Bath's most famous buildings, a crescent of impressive white homes that overlooked the city. Once again, she tried to concentrate as Elise provided background, but even as she surveyed the gleaming facades, Laura was conscious of a slight prickling in her back, as if someone were watching her. Twice, she turned to look behind her, but no one was visible.

Angry with herself for being so easily distracted, Laura pulled out her camera to take pictures of the various sights Elise was describing. Mrs. Takara seemed amused by her belated desire for a photo and snapped a picture of her taking a picture. No doubt she would giggle over it as she showed it to relatives, Laura thought indulgently. The silly American lady who never remembered to bring out her camera must be quite a novelty.

Still giggling, Mrs. Takara turned her camera on other members of the group who were taking pictures. Laura shook her head, wondering what could possibly be so funny about other people taking pictures. Violet seemed less amused, and turned her back as the ubiquitous camera pointed in her direction.

"Rather an idiot, isn't she?" she grumbled to Laura. "I hate having my picture taken, and I can't help wondering what they get out of all this. How can anyone see anything when they only look through a lens?"

Laura looked at her in surprise. Violet had struck her as imperturbable. Perhaps, though, the ever-present cameras and jostling hordes of visitors who kept snapping away at them got on the nerves of English people.

"Where do you come from, Violet?" she asked, aware that she knew very little about Violet except her name and occupation.

"Oh, here and there," Violet responded casually. Laura gave her an exasperated look and waited.

Violet laughed, her good humor restored. "Actually, that's true," she replied. "I grew up in Scotland in a town no one has ever heard of, but I've moved about a lot since then. France for a while, then London and a few other European cities – all too busy and noisy for me. I've done stints in Ireland and, as I said, Saudi Arabia."

"Is all the travel job-related?" Laura asked curiously.

"Almost all job related," Violet replied. "My field is languages – I just have an ear for them I guess - and I can get along in quite a few. A lot of what I do is translating at conferences. Basically, I go wherever people will hire me."

Laura was fascinated and wanted to know more, but just then a sleek minibus pulled up and Alan Mansfield jumped out.

"Off to Glastonbury," he announced. "All bags loaded, never fear," he reassured the worried looking Japanese couple. "Our fine driver, Abdul, takes care of the baggage. First, we will go to the Glastonbury Tor, a local landmark, then into the town. It's a place you have to take in through all your senses – ears and nostrils as well as eyes."

"All that pot swirling around," Violet quipped, and everyone laughed.

Alan laughed with them. "Could be," he agreed. "Still, there's a more serious side to the town. It is reputed to be the birthplace of Christianity, and those marvelous Avalon and Arthur legends may be based on more than fantasy. I like to think so, anyway."

Laura saw the silhouette of the Glastonbury Tor, a steep conical hill above the town, long before they reached it. Smooth and green, it rose against the blue backdrop of the sky like a child's drawing of a hill. All the land around it was flat – the Somerset Levels, Alan called them, which had long ago been flooded. That was why the area was known as the Isle of Avalon. It really had been an island in the past, and the legends that had built up around it were based on that reality. Avalon was the Celtic paradise, where fruits and vegetables grew in abundance, and fairies lived.

Arthur, king of the Celts, was brought here on a barge as he lay dying from a mortal wound, Laura remembered. She could imagine the boat making its way through the mists to the island while the women wept and called upon the Lady of the Lakes to help them in their time of need. Arthur had been buried in Glastonbury, believers said, though other more cynical historians thought the monks had started the rumor to attract pilgrims and money so they could rebuild their Abbey, which had been gutted by fire. Whatever their motives, they succeeded, and the resulting edifice was reputed to have been one of the finest in the medieval world.

The bus came to a stop half-way up the Tor, and they climbed the rest of the way. Laura lingered to study the intricate terracing on its steep sides, which was thought by many scholars to be the remains of a three-dimensional labyrinth created by Neolithic people to honor the Goddess. It seemed to her that she could almost see the long lines of worshippers stepping carefully along the sacred ceremonial way, their arms raised in reverence. It made a haunting picture.

They went into Glastonbury next. Laura didn't notice an unusual scent, but the town did have a looser, more flowing feeling than other English towns she had visited, which showed most in the women's clothing. Instead of the jeans or neat suits favored elsewhere, many women here wore layers of dingy and rather bedraggled skirts topped by shawls, and had clogs on their feet. Their hair was part well-tangled dread-lock, part braids so fat and heavy they looked unreal.

Either they all had exceptionally thick hair or they had hairpieces woven in, Laura thought skeptically. Still, they looked healthy and happy. Many had a plump, contented baby on their chest or back, African style, and another trotting beside them; often a third skipped ahead. The small groups made their way haphazardly along the street, stopping every few moments to chat with acquaintances or shopkeepers.

It was refreshing, she mused, this gathering of women who had reverted to an almost tribal way of life. Far better than so many of the women she knew, segregated in their separate suburban houses or dashing frantically from house to job.

"Maybe I should get a long skirt and a pair of clogs, too," she remarked to Violet as they sat down at a sidewalk cafe table and ordered lunch. "My hair would do that all on its own if I let it."

"I was thinking the same thing," Violet confessed, "until I looked over there."

Laura followed her gaze and saw two young people slumped against the side of a building, each holding a begging cup. Their eyes were lifeless, glazed over with an absence of emotion she couldn't imagine. Was this the fate of the happy, rosy-cheeked kids she had just seen?

"At least there's a cure here for every ailment, of the mind as well as the body," she murmured to Violet as she ran her eyes along the row of tiny stores across the street. Crystal shops and psychics abounded; other shops offered treatments from herbs and scents to yoga, to more esoteric practices of which Laura had never heard.

Her attention was diverted by Dr. Bernstein and Claudine, who were arguing in front of a sign that advertised a psychic called Elena. Dr. Bernstein started up the stairs to the psychic's room, but Claudine pulled at his arm to keep him from going. Dr. Bernstein shrugged her off and went up anyway.

Claudine stared after him angrily; then she stomped into a nearby store. When she came out again about half an hour later clutching a big shopping bag, her face was so downcast that Laura felt sorry for her. The least she could do was to ask Claudine to join them for some tea or coffee.

Laura rose and hovered at the edge of the narrow street, waiting for a car to pass so she could cross. At just that moment, she felt a strong push on her shoulder, and she was propelled into the path of the approaching car.

She stumbled, fighting for balance, lost the fight and fell heavily just as the car reached her. She saw the driver's terrified eyes staring at her through the windscreen, but it was too late for him to stop, too late for her to crawl away.

Lurching into a tight, defensive ball, Laura tucked her head under her arms and tried to remember how to pray.
CHAPTER SIX

The car slammed on its brakes, slid sideways with a screech of tires, and missed her by inches. The driver's face was a mask of horror. Then, as he watched Laura get shakily to her feet, apparently unharmed, his fear turned to anger.

"Look where you're going! You'll get yourself killed!" he yelled at her, and drove slowly away, shaking his head.

Laura looked down at her arms and legs, astonished that they were still there and that she could move them without pain. Maybe even an attempt to pray helped.

Alan Mansfield was suddenly beside her. He looked appalled, which wasn't surprising. Having his customers run over wasn't good for business. And then a large group of people was standing around her, gaping. Where had they all come from? Laura struggled to think coherently. Who had been nearby when she was pushed – or had she been pushed? Maybe someone had stumbled into her and sent her sprawling. The streets were thronged with people.

"Are you all right?" Alan asked.

"I'm fine," Laura assured Alan. "Just a bit shaken."

Mrs. Tamara's wails distracted her. "It is my fault," she moaned in her accented English. "My fault... I did not mean to bump into her only I was pushed and I could not stop..." She staggered to her husband and leaned miserably against him, but he shoved her away in disgust.

"Foolish woman," he expostulated. "Foolish woman, to say such things!" He looked as if he was about to shake her or even slap her, and Alan Mansfield intervened.

"No harm done," he assured Mrs. Takara, insinuating his tall body deftly between her and her husband. "I expect someone must have jostled you. Not your fault at all, I am sure. The streets are very crowded."

Lady Longtree, who had been watching the scene with interest once her initial alarm faded, came over to Laura. "Are you all right, my dear? If you are, I shall take Mrs. Takara back to the bus and sit with her until the rest of you come. I might get her to talk, you know. Besides, my legs need a rest."

Laura nodded, and the indomitable old lady gathered up the still moaning Mrs. Takara, to Alan's obvious relief, and escorted her to the bus. Mr. Takara stared after them stoically, and then disappeared down a side street. Everyone watched him go, and in most faces Laura read disgust. Margaret's face, however, twisted with intense loathing, and her eyes were almost murderous. Laura was astonished. She wouldn't have thought Margaret capable of such hatred.

Violet touched her elbow. "How about another dose of the restorative cup before we head out?" she asked, her voice gruff with anxiety. "Or maybe I need one this time. You do have a way of attracting trouble."

Laura agreed with relief. She badly wanted to sit down. "I can't figure it out," she grumbled to Violet. "Mrs. Takara isn't tall enough to bump into my shoulder, so why did she say it was her fault? And anyway, it felt more like a shove."

Violet paled. "Are you saying that it wasn't an accident, that someone pushed you into the street deliberately?"

"It felt like that," Laura conceded reluctantly, "although someone the right height could have bumped my shoulder by mistake. Did you see anything?"

"No, worse luck," Violet replied gloomily. "A woman came and stood right in front of me exactly when you fell into the street and I couldn't see past her. Still, what I did see was rather interesting."

"What was that?"

"The person in front of me was one of the women with the long skirts and all those beads, except I got the distinct impression that she wasn't a woman. I wish I knew who it was," Violet went on in frustration, "but I couldn't see the person's face. He or she could easily have pushed you, though, and then melted back into the crowds."

Laura stared at her. "But that is incredible! A man dressed like a woman? Why would anyone do that? And why push me?"

Violet raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty obvious, I should think. Finding a baby in the Baths and taking it to the police has made you persona non gratis to someone."

William appeared and took a seat beside them. "I saw her too, or him, I guess," he announced laconically. "It was Dr. Bernstein. Or his lady double."

"But that's impossible," Laura sputtered. "I saw him going up the stairs over there to visit that psychic." She pointed to the doorway.

As if on cue, Dr. Bernstein emerged. His gloomy face looked less harrowed than it normally did, and Laura wondered what the psychic had told him until she remembered that according to William, Dr. Bernstein hadn't talked to the woman at all. He had been busy attacking her. He might even have borrowed the psychic's clothes for that purpose. He could have come back down the stairs as a woman, given her a shove, gone back up and put his own clothes on again, and reappeared exactly as he had.

To her astonishment, Dr. Bernstein came toward them with an expression that resembled eagerness. "Those people are really quite good," he reported, sitting down beside Laura and turning his penetrating eyes full on her face. "She told me a number of things she could not have known except through some mystical source."

"A crystal ball, no doubt?" Violet contributed sarcastically.

Dr. Bernstein shot her a hostile look. "Yes, she did have one as I recall," he answered stiffly. "I don't think they actually use them, except to help concentrate their attention on another reality they are seeing.

"More is out there than we understand," he added portentously. "Yes, the world is filled with mysteries."

Laura tried not to laugh. His German accent got stronger as the gravity of his words increased. It made him sound impossibly pompous – and gullible. Could a man like that really have attacked her only ten minutes ago?

"Has anyone seen my lovely wife?" Dr. Bernstein craned his neck up and down the streets, looking for her. "I must find her. The bus is in five minutes. She always forgets her watch, though I bought her a beautiful one last year."

"I saw her in that shop some time ago," Laura answered, pointing across the street. "She came out just before I tried to cross the street." She said no more, wanting to test Dr. Bernstein. If he had been with the psychic all this time, he shouldn't know anything about her near-accident.

Apparently he didn't, since his only reaction was dismay at Claudine's whereabouts. "I was certain she would be in one of those shops," he lamented. "She is angry with me because I went to see that psychic, so now she will spend money, a good deal of money. It is her way. I do not try to stop her. That is a small price to pay for marital harmony, is it not?"

Quite a big price in this case, Laura suspected. The shopping bag in Claudine's hand when she emerged from the shop had been very large.

Dr. Bernstein leaned closer. His balding head was right in front of Laura, and she noticed that it shone with perspiration, which was surprising since it was a cool day. Perhaps, after all, William was right. A wig might have made his head perspire like that.

"Do you not agree?" he demanded, turning his eyes full on her face again and stroking his beard rhythmically. Mesmerized by his intense gaze and the monotonous strokes, she could only nod mutely.

With a sigh, Dr. Bernstein rose to his feet. "Well, I shall start in that shop then. Goodbye, ladies. And William." He nodded politely and trotted away.

Laura grimaced. That little interchange hadn't told her much – except that Dr. Bernstein was either a superb actor as well as an expert liar, or that William hadn't seen him, or her, properly. But which version was correct?

She glanced at William. He seemed puzzled but not convinced by Dr. Bernstein's performance. He also looked different today, she realized. His neatly combed hair was brown instead of purple, and his dark pants and striped shirt were quite conventional. The results were startling. He no longer looked like a teen-ager, but like a young professional. He seemed vaguely familiar like this, which Laura concluded was due to the fact that he now bore some resemblance to most other people.

He noticed her stare and grinned. "Don't like to look like everyone else." Laura laughed. In Bath, he went hippie; in Glastonbury, he did the opposite.

"I still think it was him," William insisted. "I couldn't see if he was the one who pushed you, but he was there. Or someone who looked just like him."

"What I want to know," Violet contributed, "is how he managed to disguise his beard."

William regarded her in stupefaction. "Of course," he exclaimed. "I knew something was missing; I just couldn't think what it was. But it still looked just like him without the beard. Do you suppose it could be a fake, and he can take it off? I wear one sometimes. Prickles like crazy."

"That's possible," Violet agreed, "though as you know, it takes a bit of time to clean up the face."

"Yeah," William agreed fervently. "That glue stuff is a pain to get off."

"We still don't know if anyone actually did push me, at least on purpose," Laura reminded them. "Did either of you happen to notice who was nearby?"

William nodded and rattled off an answer. "Most of the tour members were. The Japanese couple was pretty close to you, though I don't think she was close enough to do the job. That confession is nonsense. I'm pretty sure he was in front of her, so it could have been him - which may explain the confession, though why she would want to protect that creep is beyond me."

He stopped for breath and then went on at the same rapid clip. "The guy from Switzerland was beside the Takaras, so he could have done it too. Violet was sitting here, of course, and our well-prepared tour conductor was hovering nearby. The two nurses were on their way to join you; I heard them say so, but I don't think they had made it yet. Mrs. Bernstein was watching from across the street. Dr. Bernstein - well, I think he was Violet's beaded lady, but he says he was with a psychic. Did I miss anyone?"

"You didn't miss a thing," Violet answered. "Which might become a problem for you," she added. "For goodness sake, be careful. You could be the next target. "

William grinned again. "Don't worry. I've had some practice at making myself invisible."

That was an ambiguous statement, Laura thought, and filed the information away for future contemplation.

"I'll make a diagram showing where everyone was," William went on. "It'll be fun, and it might help us to see who could have done it."

He unfolded his lanky frame. "I think I'll see how my grandmother is managing with Mrs. Takara. She's a weird one. Repressed anger, I'd say. That husband of hers is a real shit-head." He ambled off, and Laura was glad to note that he looked carefully in both directions before he crossed the street.

"I wish he would leave the whole thing alone," she lamented, "his grandmother too. You'd think seeing a second person almost run down would convince them that the situation could get dangerous, but I don't think it has. I can't imagine why they are so determined to get involved."

Violet's forehead creased with worry. "Nor can I," she agreed. "It doesn't make any sense, especially since William is the most likely person to be hurt."

Laura's mouth tightened. Violet was right. William really might become the next victim unless she found out what was going on soon. She had said she would leave the investigation to the police, but that didn't seem to be working. Besides, she was tired of being a target. She didn't have any practice at making herself invisible, but she did know a few things about disguise after her experiences last year.

Claudine joined her as she walked back to the bus, and Laura saw with surprise that she no longer had her shopping bag. "What happened to the things you bought?" Laura asked impulsively.

Claudine looked flustered, almost frightened. She seemed to be casting around for an answer. Then she spotted her husband, who was already standing beside the bus, and pointed at him. "He told me to take them all back," she hissed, and the underlying fury in her tone made Laura wince. "He said they were too extravagant."

Claudine's lips closed tightly after the outburst, as if she regretted the words, and Laura didn't have the heart to question her further.

Who was lying? Laura performed a quick mental calculation and decided it had to be Claudine. There hadn't been time for Dr. Bernstein to find her and for her to return the clothes. Returning items often took longer than buying them.

Another thought popped into her mind. Claudine might not have bought anything at all. Maybe what had been in the missing bag was her husband's disguise.

Laura watched carefully as the bus negotiated the narrow street past the psychic's shop and the next one, where Claudine had lingered. When the bus turned, she saw that there was an alley behind the shops where owners put out their trash, and each had a back door that led to it. Maybe Claudine had gone out the back door of her shop, he out of his, and they had met in that alley. The shopping bag could have contained first his disguise, then his own clothes, then the revealing disguise again, which had been left behind, probably in a rubbish bin.

Tonight, she would go to the alley and see what she could find.

*********************

Getting away without arousing suspicion proved harder than Laura had anticipated. People lingered over dinner, chatting compulsively, and Alan insisted on escorting her to her room and checking it once they got there. "I want to make sure there are no intruders in your closet," he joked, but he didn't go to the door once he had looked into them, only half humorously, but stood looking at her thoughtfully.

"You are an unusual woman," he commented in a soft tone that made Laura wonder if he had other motives besides a security check. She had pegged him as a man who wouldn't be averse to a brief romance if one came his way, but surely he didn't have her in mind?

"And a weary one," she countered, standing rather stiffly by the door.

"You are sure you will be all right?" Alan persisted. "I shall be just down the hall, in number fifteen."

"I will be fine," she assured him, wondering if that had been a veiled invitation to join him if she wanted. "Violet should be here later, too."

Alan laughed. "You'll make a pretty tough pair." Reluctantly, he started for the door, and Laura stepped aside to let him pass.

"Goodnight," he said, and gave her such a charming smile that she began to wonder all over again whether she was imagining things. Maybe after all, he was just a very nice man who was concerned for her welfare. She wished, not for the first time, that she had more experience in these matters. Twenty years of marriage hadn't equipped her to evaluate masculine attention. A great deal of knowledge about gender differences didn't seem to help, either.

This was not the moment, however, to dwell on her deficiencies. Moving fast, Laura scoured her suitcase for anything that would look out of character. She almost cheered out loud when she spotted a voluminous outfit she had bought at a sidewalk sale for her daughter, who loved ethnic clothes. Shoving her feet into the baggy harem pants, which looked like extra-large pajama bottoms to her, she pulled the low-cut, midriff-baring top over her head. It was a good start, but she needed to do something about her hair. That always gave her away. The huge scarf she had bought for a friend might do the trick. Laura wrapped it around her head like a turban and fastened it securely; then she applied as thick a layer of make-up as she could with her limited supply of cosmetics, and added beads and huge clunky earrings.

A quick glance in the mirror told her that she looked like an over-dressed prostitute with terrible taste. Still, it would have to do.

No one was in the corridor, so she went out. A movement stopped her after she had taken only a few steps. Someone had entered the hall at the other end, a tall red-head according to the gleam of russet that flashed as the woman passed one of the dim wall lights. Could it be Violet? Laura ducked into a closet full of cleaning supplies. Right now, she didn't want even Violet to see her.

No, it wasn't Violet. Instead, it was another redhead, quite a gorgeous one. The woman looked around furtively; then, to Laura's astonishment, she hurried down the row of rooms and knocked quietly but insistently at number fifteen - Alan's room. The door opened and she slid inside. There was no exchange of words, not even a greeting.

Laura expelled her breath with a whooshing sound. Who could the woman be? A girlfriend or wife? But why then would she come in so stealthily?

To her horror, a sneeze threatened to emerge. The floral scent in the closet was stultifying. Holding her nose, Laura charged out of the closet, ran downstairs and erupted into the hotel's small garden, where she muffled the sneeze in a thick bush.

Disguises weren't much use to people with allergies, she reflected dispiritedly as she slid from bush to bush, and finally out into the street.

Fortunately a lot of people were out taking a late stroll, many in unusual clothes, so she wasn't too conspicuous in her costume. Laura began to relax. If she just ambled along casually, no one would notice her - unless, of course, that person was Lady Longtree, who had just come into the street. And William, Laura saw with alarm, as he joined his grandmother.

She ducked through the nearest door to elude them, and found herself in a smoke-filled pub. All conversation at the bar ceased at her abrupt entry and twenty or more pairs of masculine eyes turned to survey her through the smoky haze, if not with hostility, certainly without enthusiasm. The men waited.

Laura licked her lips. This must be one of the local's bars her landlord had warned them about. Some of them were a bit rough, he had said, and it was best to patronize the ones that catered to tourists. She couldn't leave, though, not until she was sure Lady Longtree and William were out of sight.

Deciding to ignore her, the men went back to their beers and cigarettes, and resumed a low-voiced conversation. Laura caught the word baby, and her ears pricked up. Maybe she would learn something if she stuck around.

The bartender's voice broke in. "May I help you, Madam?" His tone wasn't very welcoming. The men stopped talking and waited again.

Laura squared her shoulders. "Yes," she answered firmly, determined not to be intimidated. She had as much right to be here as anyone else. "I'll have a beer.

"A small one, a half-pint," she added hastily, recalling the correct term. "Do you have a recommendation?"

"Our Glastonbury special is popular," he told her. "It's a pale ale called Courage, not too strong. The ladies seem to like it."

"Excellent," Laura agreed. "Could you bring it to one of these tables?" She didn't have the nerve to elbow her way through that crowd of men and get it for herself, as was the custom here. Maybe after a glass or two of Courage, she would.

She looked longingly at the table furthest from the bar but decided on a closer one where she could hear if the conversation about babies resumed. Pulling out her map of the town, she pretended to study it so the men would think she wasn't listening.

The bartender brought her drink to the table and she paid him absent-mindedly, still deep in her map. Returning to his post, he propped his elbows on the bar and waited expectantly. His pose helped. The customers began to chat amiably again.

One of the men shook his head. "Terrible thing," he intoned dramatically. "Two little babies, taken just like that!" He snapped his fingers hard to demonstrate. "Girls, both of 'em. Straight outa' the maternity hospital this time, not one of those touristy places like the other one. Last night, they did it. Right in front of the bloody coppers' noses. Morning papers are full of it."

"Bastards!" one of the men said succinctly.

Laura heart sank at the thought of still more babies destined for an unknown and probably horrible fate. On the other hand, this was helpful information, and if it had only just happened, she might be able to help if she found out more about it.

"Good hospital, too, I've heard," another man contributed. "Oughta be able to take care of the poor little things better'n that. I know what I'd do if anyone stole my kid. Bloke would be dead before he hit the street."

The other men nodded emphatically. "String 'em up," another suggested. "Cut off their bloody damn balls, too."

"Up north someplace, wasn't it?" the bartender asked.

"Nah. Near here, my missus said. Bristol. She reads all that stuff. Can't get her away from it long enough to cook the bloody food."

Laura stiffened. Didn't Amy and Margaret work in Bristol?

"Another case like that in Dublin last year," a man with an Irish accent told the others. "I was there then. Papers were full of it for a while. Both girls that time, too, but they didn't bother with hospitals or tourist places. Taken right outa their prams instead when the Mum was in a store. No one ever saw 'em again. No ransom notes, nothing. Just vanished."

"Bloody world's falling apart when you can't keep kids safe," his companion grumbled. "Don't have girls myself. Glad, too. All those wierdos hanging about. Ought to lock 'em up where they can't hurt anyone."

Another man came in and the conversation shifted to football, European for soccer. Laura headed for the door. She could find out more about the thefts in the papers, and Lady Longtree and William must have reached the hotel by this time.

The streets were emptier now, almost too empty. Laura's skin began to prickle, as if once again she were being watched. There were footsteps behind her, too, footsteps that seemed to stop whenever she did.

She went into a late-shop and watched out the window, but saw only a dog-walker and an elderly woman, stooped and slow, making her way from one trash bin to the next. Maybe she was the source of the footsteps. The woman discovered a half-eaten bag of fish and chips and disappeared down an alley with her prize, clucking with satisfaction.

"Damn," Laura muttered to herself. "That's my alley." Venturing out again, she stood at the mouth of the alley, which was indeed the one behind the shops where the Bernsteins had lingered. There was no sign of the bag lady now.

Laura crept stealthily down the alley. No footsteps behind, she reassured herself as the darkness closed in, none ahead.

A rustling sound stopped her. Probably a rat or other animal, attracted by the smell of garbage. Laura aimed the beam of her flashlight at the noise. She heard a startled gasp and saw the bag lady in the act of pulling a garment up to her eyes to shield them. Other clothes littered the ground by her feet – clothes like the ones worn by so many of the women. A long skirt, a big shawl...

Excitement made Laura's stomach flip. So her guess had been correct. She turned the light away from the woman's face, afraid of alarming her further. Oddly, thought, the bag lady didn't look frightened, only determined.

"I found 'em first," she stated defiantly in a high, nasal voice.

"You did," Laura agreed amiably. "Nice clothes, too. Mind if I have a look at them? I design fabrics," she lied, "and these patterns look very unusual.

"I won't take them, I promise," she added as the woman snatched them up and held them protectively to her chest. "I just want to look at them."

"What's your name?" she added, when there was no response.

"Name's Maisie," the bag lady admitted.

"Do you live in Glastonbury, Maisie?"

Maisie stared at her for a long moment but made no answer. "You're the one got pushed into the street," she said unexpectedly.

"You're right, I am," Laura agreed. "Did you see what happened?"

But Maisie didn't seem to hear. "You can look at this one," she conceded, holding out a shawl with a lurid floral pattern before turning to rummage in the garbage bin again.

"Thank you." Laura took the shawl, wondering what she was going to do with it. She hadn't seen the man dressed as a woman. Violet had. Still, she might be able to describe the shawl to Violet later. Maybe, though, there was another way. Holding it up to her nose, she sniffed it. Surely, a scent as strong as Dr. Bernstein's dreadful aftershave would cling to fabrics. How wonderful if that should be the instrument of his undoing!

Her nose wrinkled with distaste. The shawl smelled mostly of rotting garbage. She thought she caught a vague scent of perfume, but it was hard to identify as belonging to Dr. Bernstein or anyone else after its sojourn in the can.

The bag lady straightened and held up a ragged and hairy brown object with a gesture of triumph. Plunking it on her head, she danced clumsily around the garbage can. Laura laughed, feeling triumphant. So there was a wig.

"It suits you," she said. "All you need is the shawl to put over your head. Here, you can have it back now."

Maisie gave her a wide smile, revealing a mouth that was almost empty of teeth. Abruptly, her lips clamped tightly closed again and a look of abject fear came into her face. She gave a small screech of terror, grabbed what she could of the clothes at her feet and fled into the darkness with remarkable agility for such a stiff-legged old lady. The wig flopped furiously on her head and then fell off.

Laura whirled. Maisie must have seen something - or someone - behind her. Steeling herself not to run, she shone her light into the darkness, moving it in a wide arc around the alley. A flash of pale cloth caught in the arc; then it disappeared and the person in the cloth was swallowed into the darkness again. A dress or a long coat, Laura thought. She ran toward the place where she had seen it but no one was there.

Then, without warning, she heard the footsteps again, just behind her and to the left. They came closer and closer still. Every instinct told her to run but she stood her ground, shaking. She had to know who the person was.

An unearthly scream bounced against the walls of the alley. Laura froze. A second scream followed and then a third - howls so ferocious that they propelled Laura's paralyzed limbs into action. Utterly unable to control her panic now, she fled.
CHAPTER SEVEN

Laura hurtled out of the alley. Surely, there must be still be a few people on the main street. There was one - a man walking his dog with leisurely steps. She ran up to him, casting caution and discretion to the winds.

"Hello!" he said, his voice tinged with concern. "You look as if you've had a fright."

"Yes. I was... I was taking a shortcut through the alley. Not a good idea, I guess," Laura said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"No," he agreed, regarding her strange costume with politely restrained curiosity. Laura was grateful for the streetlights after the darkness of the alley, but she wished they weren't quite so bright. They made her look positively garish.

"That awful scream terrified me," she added, wanting to distract him from her appearance. "Did you hear it?"

He chuckled. "I certainly did. "We hear a lot of that sort of howling around here. Too many abandoned cats."

"A cat?" Laura was horrified. Had she run away instead of rescuing a poor homeless cat that was being brutally attacked?

"A female in heat," he explained succinctly, and gave her another curious look. "They always make a noise like that. Looking for a mate."

Laura went pink with embarrassment. She had panicked because of a randy cat!

If nothing terrifying awaited her in the alley, she ought to go back for the clothes and the wig. They could be valuable evidence. The thought was appalling.

"If you will tell me where you live, or are staying," her companion said in the same polite tone, "I shall be happy walk you back. Lucy is small but she's fearsome when she wants to be." As if to confirm his statement, the dog, an irascible looking terrier, growled at something unseen down the street.

Laura grasped at the excuse. She would go back to the alley early in the morning, when she could see but no one would be around. "That's good of you," she agreed.

Her rescuer cast her still another ambivalent glance, and it occurred to Laura that she should at least try to explain her unusual attire.

"We had a kind of fancy dress routine this evening," she ventured. This time the man's look was frankly skeptical.

"I mean, that's why I'm dressed like this," Laura stumbled on. "I... I came out for a breath of air, you see..."

"Quite," he agreed, sounding unconvinced. "Sounds jolly, I must say."

Discouraged, Laura provided the name of her hotel and after that the conversation flagged. Her breathing slowly returned to normal, and she was grateful that he seemed to be as lost in his thoughts as she was in hers. Then, once again, she heard footsteps behind her. The dog growled, more ferociously this time. Laura felt a flutter of panic.

"Someone else out here, definitely," the man remarked mildly. "Just another dog-walker, I imagine."

Laura took a quick look behind her. Not a dog walker, she saw, but a tall man wearing a long pale trench coat. It flapped as he walked rapidly toward them.

The cloth she had seen in the alley; she was positive. Laura hesitated. Half of her wanted to confront the man, the other half wanted to run. She did neither. The unruffled presence of her companion gave her courage, and she walked on with him at the same unhurried pace. The man in the trench coat caught up with them, nodded brusquely, and sped on.

Laura stiffened. His face was familiar – not someone she knew, but someone she had seen recently. But where? All the way back to the hotel she pondered the question, but she was unable to place him.

To her relief, no one was around when they arrived. "Thank you so much," she said with unfeigned gratitude. "Even if it was just a cat making that noise, it frightened the wits out of me."

"My pleasure," her rescuer assured her, but he didn't turn away as Laura had expected. Instead, he lingered on the sidewalk beside her, looking embarrassed. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak.

A horrifying idea popped into Laura's mind. Maybe he thought she really was a prostitute and was working up the courage to proposition her.

She quickly forestalled the possibility. "I'd love to treat you to coffee tomorrow morning, to thank you for coming to my rescue," she babbled with a bright smile. "It would have to be early, though. I'm with a tour group, and we have to be at the Abbey ruins at nine," she added, wanting to make her position clear. "Would eight be too early?"

Consternation flooded the man's face, but he recovered quickly. "That would be grand," he agreed.

"We could meet at Hazel's café," Laura suggested, recalling the name of a small café she had seen on a side street.

"Excellent," he said with a smile. "I'm an early bird anyway. I can make it seven-thirty if you prefer." Laura smiled back. He was a very pleasant looking man now that she'd had a chance to look at him. He might have seen something while he was walking his dog, too. Any snippet of information she could get was welcome, however she got it.

"Seven-thirty would be great," she assured him.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, at Hazel's," he answered, and strolled away, his steps jaunty now.

Laura hurried inside before anyone turned up. To her surprise, Violet wasn't in the room. She had said she kept unusual hours, but it was well past midnight. Still, Violet was perfectly capable of looking after herself.

Stripping off her clothes, Laura folded them into her suitcase, scrubbed her face free of the cloying make-up, set her alarm for six thirty to allow time for the alley, and tumbled into bed. Two hours later she sat up suddenly. The man in the trench coat was the man with whom she had almost collided at the top of the stairs in the Bed and Breakfast in Bath – the elegantly dressed man who had looked at her filthy clothes with such disdain after she'd rescued the baby.

Laura blinked, unable to process this startling information in her foggy state, and fell back into dreamless slumber.

She awoke just in time to disarm the alarm. Scribbling a hasty note for Violet, now soundly asleep in her bed, she dressed and went quietly out the door.

When she reached the alley, she crept toward the bin where she had found Maisie. Footsteps sounded again, hurrying ones this time. Laura was almost certain they weren't the same ones she had heard last night. These were lighter, faster. A woman?

A cat slithered in front of her and she stifled a gasp. The muted sound was enough to frighten her quarry. The person was running now, hurrying away from her in the same direction Maisie had fled.

Laura sprinted after the receding footsteps and spotted a slender dark-haired woman in a blue jacket and pale slacks running up an adjoining alley. She had a fleeting impression of lightness and grace; then her quarry turned into a busier street and disappeared. By the time Laura got there, she was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling cheated, Laura retraced her steps to the alley. There was still the garbage can, she consoled herself, which might contain something useful.

She leaned over the smelly can, nerving herself to grope around in the rotting contents. Tentatively, she thrust in an arm. She was immediately rewarded. A large bundle of stained cloth emerged with her filthy hand. When shaken out, it turned into a voluminous, very grubby skirt. Stuck to it by a wad of chewing gum was a scarf, not the one Laura had handed back to Maisie but a smaller silky one. A single long red hair that shone in a brief glimmer of sunlight dangled from it.

Holding it high, Laura performed a little jig, as Maisie had done. The woman she had seen last night sneaking into Alan Mansfield's room!

A chuckle behind her made her drop the skirt. "You seem to have found an article of clothing that pleases you," a masculine voice observed.

Laura whirled. Last night's dog-walker was behind her. His dog was at his side.

The humor vanished from his face, and he stared at her in consternation. "Good heavens!" he stammered. "I didn't know that was you. You look quite different. I fear I'd thought... Or rather I wasn't sure...."

He stopped abruptly, looking mortified again. Laura hastened to reassure him. "If you mistook me for a woman of the night, as the old novels call them, it just shows my disguise was more effective than I'd thought," she assured him.

He continued to stare at her; then his face relaxed into a charming, lop-sided smile. "I like you a good deal better this way," he said candidly. "You have to admit, though, that you did give cause for other interpretations."

Laura laughed. "I certainly did. I had to duck into one of the local bars last night to elude someone, and I wonder now if they had the same thought."

"No doubt they did," he observed dryly. "They probably didn't like it either, if you went into the King's Head. You were trespassing on someone else's turf. Gladys, our local prostitute, usually haunts that bar, and the locals feel protective about her."

"So that was it! They did seem unwelcoming." Laura sighed. "How naïve I am."

"Good," he replied firmly. "I find that a relief. You do seem to have an unusual interest in this alley, however, and I can't help wondering why. Or why you were trying to elude someone by going into the King's Head, or why you were dressed like that in the first place," he added, regarding her with interest.

Laura hesitated. "It's rather a long story," she demurred.

"And an absorbing one, I deduce," he countered. "You were so engrossed that you didn't even see me."

"Fine sleuth I make," Laura answered gloomily.

"Lucy's a jolly good one, however," he replied. "She came up with this. Does it interest you too?" In his hand was a wig.

"That is fantastic!" Laura told him, her eyes glowing with triumph.

"Excellent," he said, handing it over. "The timely contribution will, I hope, persuade you of my deservedness in terms of explanations. You owe me one, as they say in America. And now I believe it is time for our coffee date."

"I'm aching for a cup of coffee," Laura agreed, "or even better, a pot of tea, maybe a couple of scones as well."

Her companion produced a grocery bag that he said he often used to collect trash on the streets. "Put those unsightly things in here," he instructed, pointing at the wig and the skirt. "Otherwise Hazel at the coffee shop will think we've both gone mad."

Her companion waited until Laura had downed her first cup of tea and then looked at her expectantly. Lucy, who was apparently well known at Hazel's and allowed in without question, looked up at her with an almost identical expression. Laura grinned. Dog and master were both curious but polite about it, and very tenacious.

"It's a complicated situation," she began. "I'm afraid I've got myself into a hornet's nest of intrigue. Quite unintentionally," she added, lest he think she was some kind of an undercover agent. "I'm just an innocent American tourist, but I guess I was in the wrong place at the right time. Or is it the opposite?"

"I think it is. Maybe I can help," he offered cheerfully. "I'd be glad to if I can. I'm a journalist and accustomed to doing investigations. First, though, perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name's Burtin. Richard Burtin."

Laura's eyebrows lifted at the familiar name. "I get a lot of flak from my daughter about it," he confessed. "He's her favorite actor. I act in local theatre productions and that makes it worse. I can't measure up."

Laura laughed. "Well, I'm very fond of amateur theatre," she told him. "I do it too, or did. And I'm Laura Morland. Thanks again for your help."

She reached out to shake his hand, and he took it in a strong grip. "I didn't do much except almost put my foot in my mouth," he said wryly.

"Yes you did," Laura assured him, studying his face. His features were a bit too large and his face a bit too crooked for conventional good looks, but there was a friendly gleam in his astute gray eyes that she really liked.

Richard frowned. "Now that I've seen you looking what I surmise is normal, you look familiar. Weren't you the woman who almost got run over yesterday?"

Laura brightened. Another witness. Was there anyone in Glastonbury who hadn't seen her? "Yes, that was me. Did you see anything that might help?"

Richard shook his head. "All I saw was somebody walking away from you quite fast, a woman in a long skirt, but I thought she was chasing a child, trying to catch him before he got to the corner. I also saw the young man who joined you later at the table lurking at the head of the alley."

He frowned. "He looks familiar, but I can't place him."

"Did you see the woman's face?" Laura asked eagerly.

"No, only her back. She looked sturdy, had brownish hair and a long stride. She was almost running, which is why I thought she was chasing a child."

"Was the hair the color of that wig?" Laura's voice was sharp.

Richard's eyebrows rose. "Come to think of it, it was," he admitted. "What made you ask? Do you think the woman I saw was wearing a wig?"

Laura grinned. "Yes, and the skirt in your bag too, except I'm not sure she was a woman. That's part of the unlikely story you want to hear. It's also what caused me to try to search the alley last night and this morning."

Richard whistled softly, impressed. "Well, that's one for the books. Now you've made me really curious. Fire away, for goodness sake!"

Laura paused to take a bite of scone. If she was going to confide in Richard, she should start at the beginning and tell him the whole story, including a description of the tour members. On the other hand, she knew nothing about Richard except his name and that he was a journalist - and an actor. Even amateur actors could put on an excellent performance. Last year's experience had taught her that.

Richard seemed to intuit her thoughts. He handed her a business card. "I'll give you names of people who can verify my credentials, too," he offered. "I might be able to help by doing background research on whatever this hornet's nest of intrigue is. I'd enjoy it. I came here from London, and things seem a bit dull by comparison."

Laura considered. She really would like to talk to someone who wasn't involved in the tour, and Richard seemed like a heaven-sent candidate. Besides, her intuition told her she could trust him, and that had to count for something.

"Thanks," she agreed. "I could do with some help and I'd be interested in your reactions to the story." She began with the twins in the airport and mentioned everything she could think of that seemed relevant, right up to the conversation about babies she'd overheard in the pub.

"I also keep wondering if any of the tours members could be involved," she finished.

"Why do you think that?" Richard asked.

"There's nothing I can prove," Laura admitted, "except that someone seems to want to get me out of the way, presumably because I found the baby. The tour members are the only people who know where I'll be each day, although I really do think someone is following me. Then there's the fact that the babies the pub man mentioned were taken from the two nurses' hospital. That's an odd coincidence, like the bomb scare and Joe, the old man who was run down.

"It's also a feeling I have that some of the tour members are a bit off, not right for this particular tour. The Takaras, for instance, are interested in photography, so why didn't they choose a tour with lots of different attractions to take pictures of instead of this one, which goes only to a few places? The Bernsteins don't fit that well, either. He's a pompous ass who may be interested in the occult, but I doubt he cares about gardens and manor houses. I doubt Claudine does, either, although she probably did hide the clothes in the alley. Even Lady Longtree and William, who are very helpful, don't make sense. Why are they so determined to be involved despite the possible dangers? And why take a bus tour when they already know so much about the sites we visit?"

"I see what you mean," Richard replied thoughtfully. "If you will provide the names of the tour members, I'll check them out on my computer, as well as checking out the tour itself. I still have good connections in the city, too, and people there might know more, especially about the criminal organization you mentioned."

"That would be a great help," Laura said gratefully.

"I kept both articles about babies being taken," Richard told her. "There will be plenty more, too. The whole country is in an uproar about it. I'll save them for you and see if there's anything in today's papers. I'm on my way to the newsagent anyway."

"There's another wrinkle you don't know," he added.

"What's that?"

"There is a bag lady of sorts in Glastonbury, but she's in hospital right now and her name isn't Maisie. It's Peg."

Laura stared. "No Maisie? But who was she then?"

"Maybe another bag lady but it seems unlikely - much more logical to think that Maisie is an imposter. I'll try to find out."

Richard paused for an appreciative sip of his coffee. "Do you have any other clues that might be helpful?"

"There's the long red hair on the scarf I found that probably came from the woman I saw going into Alan Mansfield's room," Laura answered. "Violet is also a redhead but her hair is shorter, so I doubt it came from her. Then there's the woman with dark hair I saw in the alley this morning. I forgot to tell you about her. She had been looking in the garbage can; I'm almost certain of it, and I scared her off."

"Could that one be the Maisie imposter?" Richard asked.

Laura shook her head. "I doubt it. The woman I saw this morning was quite graceful. Maisie was very lively for an old lady but certainly not graceful.

"None of it seems to help us much, or add up," she added with a frown.

"Every bit helps," Richard assured her. "What one must do in these cases is to keep gathering evidence, about who these people really are, who might want you out of the way because you found a baby, and so forth. It's a methodical process. A computer is a great help. I'll get on it right away."

"You're very good to offer all this," Laura replied gratefully. "I don't want to be a nuisance, though, so please don't let me interrupt your schedule."

"It is my pleasure to help," Richard assured her. "The stories I'm working on now are hardly exhilarating, and this sounds a good deal more interesting."

Belatedly, Laura glanced at her watch. "I'd better get moving. I should be at Glastonbury Abbey right now. I'll look for that red hair and then I'm off."

She pulled out the silken scarf and discovered not one but two long red hairs. "Alan's lady must have worn this at some point, that's clear," she said in satisfaction.

"How about the wig?" Richard asked. "Have you checked that for hairs? They often get stuck to the lining."

"Brilliant!" Laura answered, and pulled it out. "Something's caught in there."

Richard took the wig and brought it close to his eyes. "You're right. There are a number of short dark hairs stuck to the lining, evenly distributed. Short and curly and coarse. Does that fit the head of anyone in the tour group?"

Laura shook her head. "Only Dr. Bernstein and the Takaras have dark hair. Hers is long and his is straight, and Dr. Bernstein only has a thin fringe. He's pretty bald at the top." She sighed. "That lets out my two favorite villains, I guess."

"Unless one of them is wearing a wig that covers curly hair," Richard pointed out. "Check the tour members to see if anyone might be wearing one. Even a bald wig," he added. "They exist too."

Laura nodded and stood. "Thanks for the coffee, and all the advice."

"How about day after tomorrow at the same time?" he asked. "By then, I should have some information for you."

"I'm afraid we leave for Stourhead Gardens this afternoon," Laura told him. "But I'll give you the name of the hotel where we're staying and you can contact me there."

"I shall join you in Stourhead instead," Richard replied imperturbably. "I'd like to see the gardens again anyway. They're gorgeous at this time of year."

"Excellent," Laura agreed, and gave him the name of the hotel. She hurried off, eager to walk around the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey while the weather held. Bulbous clouds were forming, and she could smell rain in the air.

The group had gone through the entrance into the Abbey museum, but Alan Mansfield was waiting for her at the ticket counter. "I didn't see you at breakfast, and I wanted to let you know what our plans are should the day turn rainy," he explained. "In that case, we will postpone Stourhead Gardens until tomorrow, and visit various indoor attractions in the area this afternoon. So if it rains, please come to the bus in the parking lot. We'll go to the lovely manor house where we'll be staying for the next few nights first, and decide over lunch what comes next."

"That sounds fine," Laura agreed. "I just hope the rain holds off long enough for me to get a good look at the Abbey. I hear it's a fascinating place."

"Be sure to look at the displays in the museum first," Alan replied. "They are very well done, and will help you to understand what you are seeing.

"Violet said you had a breakfast date," he added with a smile. "Sounds enticing."

"Oh, just a very nice man I happened to meet in a shop yesterday," Laura lied glibly. "I enjoy the chance to talk to residents of the places I visit."

"Most commendable," Alan replied smoothly, but Laura had the strong sense that he wanted more information. Why did he seem so interested in her?

She was quickly distracted by the displays. Large panels, six feet long and just as high, chronicled the Abbey's history of tenacious reconstruction after various disasters, man-made and otherwise, until its final destruction under the merciless hands of Henry the Eighth and his men. All that remained now was a tower on which the last two monks from the Abbey had been hanged, on Henry's orders.

Low voices on the other side of the panel caught Laura's attention. Amy and Margaret, she was sure. She was about to join them when Amy spoke again.

"I can't help worrying about the two babies," she said anxiously, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure they will be all right? I feel so responsible for them. After all, we arranged for them to be..."

Then, in an anguished tone: "Oh, Margaret, are you sure we did the right thing..."

"They aren't our concern now that they've gone," Margaret interrupted sharply. "We can't do anything more for them than we already have, so for goodness sakes stop talking about it. Do you want to get us into..."

The rest was lost as the two women moved toward the door.

Laura frowned. It was perfectly natural for Amy to be distressed about the missing babies, but she made it sound as if she and Margaret were involved in their disappearance. What had the two nurses done?

Lady Longtree bore down upon her. She was wearing yet another hat, this one in a robust shade of purple.

"I bought it at a street stall," she explained, noticing Laura's stare. "Rather unusual, isn't it? Marvelous exhibit," she went on cheerfully, without giving Laura an opportunity to reply. "Do come see this next panel."

Laura followed her, grateful for the reprieve. What did one say about purple hats?

"I just wanted to get you alone to see how you are," Lady Longtree apologized in a stage whisper. "I haven't had a chance to talk to you since your unfortunate... accident, I suppose it was. Hope it was."

"I'm sure it was," Laura said heartily in the hopes of preventing her, and William, from going on with their investigation. Her hope was quickly dashed.

"William and I have been on patrol, so to speak," the old lady assured her. "But you mustn't worry, my dear," she went on. "We just watch and listen for the most part.

"Now, this is what we have observed. First, William thinks someone is following you – a man in jeans and a tweed jacket, he says."

Laura was amused. The trench coat man must have changed his clothes after noting that she had seen him last night. His effort to confuse her wasn't going to be very successful with Lady Longtree and William on his heels.

Inexplicably, Lady Longtree lips began to twitch. "I get up now and again during the night – one of the problems of old age, I fear," she began, "and last night I heard footsteps in the hall, so I cracked the door to see who might be coming in so late. The most remarkable creature was out there. She wore what appeared to be a harem costume and stage make-up. I expected her to go into some man's room – none of my business of course, except that I don't think it's a very safe line of work for women these days, and rather demeaning, but aside from that, but no – she went in yours!"

Laura blushed furiously. "I hope you don't think..." she stammered.

The old lady's eyes twinkled. "No, my dear, I do not," she said firmly. "A very convincing disguise and I congratulate you on your creativity with presumably limited resources. On the other hand, you might want to use the costume cautiously. People who don't know you really might get the wrong idea."

"So I discovered," Laura admitted wryly. "I had quite a bit of masculine interest last evening. No harm done, though," she added hastily.

"Violet came in even later," Lady Longtree remarked with a frown. "I wonder what she was up to. A very interesting person, don't you think?"

"She's delightful," Laura agreed. "She does keep odd hours, though."

"Yes. Quite interesting, isn't it? Well, I must be off. I told Alan I'd walk through the Abbey grounds with him, an arm to lean on in the rough places, you know. He is a most accommodating man."

With that stamp of approval, she limped off, thus emphasizing her need of a strong arm. That too was interesting, Laura reflected. Lady Longtree hadn't been limping before. What was she up to? And how well did she know Alan?

Putting the unanswerable questions out of her mind, Laura pushed through the big doors into the Abbey grounds. It had begun to rain now, a light drizzle that enhanced the scents of flowering trees and freshly cut grass. Laura breathed it in deeply.

Most of the group had gathered around the Abbott's kitchen, the only intact building in the complex, and were listening to a lively account of the monk's daily lives. Laura wandered away, wanting to contemplate the fallen walls in peace. Oddly, the ruins of formerly glorious buildings were often more moving than the original edifice. The word haunting was overused but it still applied.

The word seemed even more apt when she came to the grave where Arthur and Guinevere had reputedly been buried. Laura was certain she could feel... feel what? She wasn't sure, except that aura might be the right word. Could some part of the royal pair linger here even if their remains had vanished?

She walked slowly over to the Queen's Chapel, which seemed to her the most poignant of the ruined buildings, and sat wondering how many deaths and tragedies had been mourned within its cold stone walls. Sighing, she followed signs to the basement of yet another ruined structure, where a small chapel called St. Mary's, dating from 1186, remained intact. Services were still held at Christmas and Easter, she read.

Laura examined the small chapel and then turned to look at an old spiral stairway that must once have led up from the deep enclosure of the cellar to the rooms above. She slipped off her pack, weary of the weight, and wriggled her shoulders appreciatively as she ran her fingers over the old stones.

"Look out!" a voice cried. Laura turned to see who should look out and for what, but a hand pulled her backward before she could find out.

She heard a slithering sound and saw a large rock tumble down on the spot where she had been standing a moment ago. With a muted crash, it pinned her backpack neatly to the ground.
CHAPTER EIGHT

There was no time to be frightened. Instead, Laura was annoyed at the sudden intrusion into her dreamy state. She thanked the helpful tourist who had pulled her out of the way, and then climbed out of the cellar to see where the rock had come from.

Propped against the side of the old wall was a ladder she hadn't been able to see from below – and that she was sure hadn't been there when she'd entered the chapel. She would have noticed because it looked so out of place. There were muddy foot prints on the treads, which meant someone had climbed up it very recently.

Belatedly, fear struck. The falling rock wasn't an accident, any more than her fall in the street. Someone must have had put up a ladder, scrambled up it and sent a rock careening down at exactly the right moment.

An alarmed voice at her elbow confirmed her suspicions. "I'm so sorry, Madam. I can't imagine how that happened." Laura turned and saw a gardener. "We check for loose rocks constantly. I can't think how the ladder got there, either. I keep it in that shed when tourists are in the Abbey grounds," he told her, pointing to a nearby tool shed. "People always want to go up for a better view, and that can be dangerous."

"No harm done," Laura assured him, "though it did give me a shock."

"I imagine so," he agreed soberly. "I'll see it doesn't happen again."

"Is the shed usually locked?" she asked. "And did you see anyone near the ladder a few minutes ago?"

"It's only locked when we close up for the day," he answered, "but I keep a close eye on it while I'm working." He pointed to a group of laughing teenagers. "I'll wager one of them snuck in and grabbed the ladder when my back was turned, and scrambled up it to impress his friends." Shaking his head at the follies of young people, he shouldered the ladder and bore it back to the shed.

Laura was doubtful. One of the teenagers might have done it, but so could any of the more agile members of the tour group – or the man or men following her, or some other unknown enemy. Besides, two close calls in as many days was simply too much of a coincidence.

The rain began in earnest, and she headed for the parking lot. Amy came up behind her. "Oh, hi, Laura," she said brightly. "Have you seen Margaret anywhere around? I seem to have lost her in there."

"That's easy to do," Laura agreed. "There are so many old buildings and walls. Still, it's a marvelous place, isn't it?"

"It really is remarkable, isn't it?" Amy sounded abstracted and Laura gave her an encouraging smile, hoping she might talk about her worries.

Amy complied without hesitation, and Laura suspected she had been aching to talk to someone. "I can't help being worried about those poor little babies," she confided, "and that makes it hard for me to concentrate on other things. They were at our hospital, you know – the Children's Hospital in Bristol; that's where we work, so they were our responsibility. Margaret doesn't want me to talk about it in case it gets us into trouble, but I really think we ought to tell someone."

She moved closer to Laura. "You see, Margaret and I tested the babies and helped to take care of them, so we knew where they came from and what would probably happen to them. That horrible operation, you know." She shuddered. "It's so awful I don't want to think about it, or even say it."

Laura said it for her. "You mean female circumcision. Or, as some people call it, genital mutilation."

Amy nodded gratefully. "Yes, that's it. The fathers insist, sometimes even the mothers. Naturally, we wanted to help the babies, so that was why we arranged for then to be..."

Amy broke off abruptly when Mrs. Takara burst out of an intersecting path they had just crossed, camera held high. She smiled gleefully. "Now I have just the picture I wanted," she crowed. "My husband tells me my pictures are too stiff and too bright, but this one will not be, not in the rain. You were so serious and absorbed, too. It was natural, just what he said I must do.

"He is not a very good photographer either," she confided, "but of course I do not tell him that. He likes to think he is expert. He is a man, is he not?"

This bit of homespun wisdom made Mrs. Takara seem less of a victim - as well as explaining the poor quality of her husband's pictures - but Laura felt an uncharitable desire to tell the little woman to get lost. What ghastly timing! Why did she have to appear with that dratted camera just as Amy seemed ready to talk?

She would get Amy alone again as soon as it was possible without looking too contrived, Laura vowed as she boarded the bus. In the meantime, a trip to the Bristol Children's Hospital might be a more productive way to spend the afternoon than touring whatever attractions Alan had in mind for them. She would get directions and a list of phone numbers for cabs from the desk, and leave after a brief stop in her room.

She was the first to enter the manor house except for William and Lady Longtree, who had come back on their own earlier. Laura went through the front door and stopped. Music – a magnificent piano concerto, floated down the long hall. She tiptoed closer to see who was playing, and on what.

At the far end of the hall was a glass door; behind it was a music room with a grand piano and chairs for listeners. Seated at the piano, his head bent over the keyboard in an ecstasy of concentration, was William.

Laura felt a rush of tears in her throat. Never had she heard such wonderfully spontaneous music emanating from a piano. And from William, the gangly teen-ager. He was incredible!

A niggling memory returned, of a photograph she'd seen of a young English prodigy, with an admiring article about his virtuosity. He had a long dark blond ponytail, she remembered. Could he be William? The face, the skinny frame, those were the same. And hair could be cut, dyed...

She looked again at William's profile and knew she was right. No wonder he had looked so familiar in his good clothes! She also understood why he'd become good at making himself invisible. He must need to be. Personable young celebrities attracted a great deal of unwanted attention.

The others burst through the door. In an instant William was up, the lid closed over the keys, and he looked as he always did, slouched and casual in his present costume of jeans and t-shirt. Laura crept away, feeling privileged to have heard him play.

Her knowledge of his real identity, however, raised her earlier worries with renewed force. What on earth possessed Lady Longtree to expose her talented grandson to danger by letting him – almost encouraging him - become involved in a mystery in which one person had already been knocked down by a hit-and-run-driver and she herself had almost been killed? Their involvement would also expose them to publicity and police attention, neither welcome. It made no sense at all.

Laura got an answer of sorts when William knocked on her door a few minutes later. "I went back to the house where we saw the father," he reported with a grin. "I was a mechanic again, to fix the heating system. I'm actually pretty good at it. I couldn't find you, or you could have come as my assistant."

His face fell comically. "It didn't do much good, though. The place was deserted. I thought maybe they just weren't answering the door, but I peeked in all the windows and couldn't see anyone."

Laura blanched. "Oh William, I do wish you would stop investigating," she burst out. "I'm convinced now that there's some kind of criminal activity going on, and I can't bear the thought that you might get hurt. It's just too dangerous."

William looked down at the floor. "I know," he muttered, his face twisting with emotion. "I have to do it anyway." Laura thought he was fighting back tears.

"Can you tell me why?" she asked gently.

William looked up again, and now his eyes were pleading. "I wish I could but I can't, not right now, anyway. My... grandmother and I... we have to know but we can't talk because..."

He looked at her helplessly, and Laura relented. "It's all right, William. I'll take your word for it that you can't explain. I'll wait until you can talk. But if you do have to keep detecting, I want to be with you. That way I can keep an eye on you at least."

William sent her a heart-rending smile that made Laura want to hug him. "I keep an eye on you, too," he told her. "You're the one who almost got run over.

"That rock came pretty close to your head," he added slyly. "I wasn't there, but my grandmother was walking nearby."

Laura sighed. So Lady Longtree had seen. So far, no one else in the group seemed to know, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"I think your grandmother has eyes in the back of her head," she said, only partly in jest. "You're right, though. I do seem to be the target so far. But please don't mention the rock to anyone. I don't want the others in the tour to know."

Lady Longtree's head appeared in the doorway, causing Laura to wonder if she had a few extra sets of ears too, or a set of psychic antenna. Her blue eyes moved back and forth between William's face and her own, and Laura was certain she had either overhead or intuited the conversation that had passed between them.

She didn't refer to it, however. Instead she said: "Ah, there you are, William. Good. I came to ask if Laura would like to join us. I've called for a cab."

"A cab to where?" Laura asked, bemused by this indirect approach.

Lady Longtree looked up and down the hall and then closed the door. "To the Bristol Children's Hospital," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "I thought you would agree that it is the best place to start. I have already explained to Alan that we intend to go our own way this afternoon.

"The daughter of a friend happens to be there," she added. "A broken leg after a fall from a horse, I believe. At any rate, I am certain she would like visitors."

Laura laughed. "I was just about to go there myself, as I believe you suspected, and your friend's daughter will provide excellent cover."

They were an unlikely group of sleuths, she mused as a cab bore them away: a visiting American professor, an incognito young celebrity and a titled member of the aristocracy - and a promising equestrienne and champion wheelchair racer through a self-made obstacle course down the hospital halls, Laura discovered when they arrived at the children's floor.

The race was just about to start, and every child was either leaning out of bed watching avidly, or, if mobile, standing in the doorway.

"Ready, get set, go!" declared a shrill voice from a wheelchair. Disregarding nurses, meal trays, visitors and all else, the contenders weaved with varying degrees of expertise through a series of cardboard boxes and emerged triumphantly at the other end of the hall. Laura and William flattened themselves against the wall, which failed to protect them from a few out-of-control chairs. Lady Longtree prudently retreated into the elevator, with a finger on the do not close button.

"Bravo, Bravo, Victoria!" she cried to the winner.

The child who had won – who was also the announcer – looked up and grinned. "Hi, Aunt Olivia. Hi, William. Helps to pass the time. Want to watch some more?"

Laura regarded her with interest. Her blond hair stuck up in all directions and her nose already showed a distinctly patrician hump. She looked to be about eight or nine. A determined character, Laura decided, probably a curious and observant one as well.

"One more go, and that's it," a nurse ordered. "The visitors are arriving and we don't want to knock down your mums and dads, do we?"

"Yes." Victoria's answer was unequivocal. The other children giggled and lined up once more. To no one's surprise, Victoria won again.

"Some of the other kids are pretty good, too," she conceded when Laura admired her skill in a wheelchair. "They've been in them for longer."

"But they haven't been racing horses the way you have," William countered. "I hear you're a champion jumper." Victoria looked gratified.

William touched the wheelchair. "Can you go all over the hospital in that thing?"

"Not supposed to but I do," Victoria answered laconically. "I like to keep track of what goes on around here."

"I bet you see a lot." Laura observed, hoping that Victoria's inquisitive nature had led her to listen in on conversations about the stolen babies.

Victoria had done better than that. "I was on the infant's floor, hiding around the corner, when the two babies were taken, and I saw everything!" she said, her button blue eyes glittering with excitement. "The kidnappers didn't pay any attention to me, though, so I don't think they'll come back and kidnap me." She sounded almost disappointed.

"Can you tell us about it?" William asked eagerly.

"Close the door first," Victoria ordered. "The nurses don't like me to talk about it, but that's silly. It's a crime and it has to be solved. I told the police some stuff I saw but not all of it because I want to solve it myself, like Nancy Drew."

"I read all her books when I was younger," Laura told her. "She's great."

'Well, I'm going to be the English Nancy Drew," Victoria announced. "Will you send me some copies if I tell you everything? They're hard to get here."

"I certainly will," Laura agreed. "As soon as I get home I'll look for them."

"All right. But I get to write the book about it because I was in on it from the very beginning," Victoria bargained. They all nodded, and she seemed satisfied.

"I was down on that floor, watching the tiny babies," she began. "They look like monkeys, and I like to see their faces go all red and scrunched up when they scream. Two nurses came down the hall. One of them had yellowish hair and the other was ancient-looking. That one told me I should go back to my own floor because I might infect the babies, which is nonsense since all I have is a broken leg, but I pretended to anyway, so that's why I was hiding around the corner.

"Then two of those ladies who wear black scarves over their heads and faces came out of the elevator. They went up to the nurses and one of them asked which door was right for the women they wanted to visit. The nurses told them, but then a loud bell rang and they left. The two covered up ladies went down the hall. One of them went into one room, the other into another, and when they came out they were each holding a baby."

Victoria took a deep breath. "This is the part I didn't tell. One of the covered-up ladies was very tall, too tall for a lady, I think, almost as tall as William, and her face was covered too, so you couldn't see her except for her eyes. They were a weird greenish color. She never said a word to the nurses. I think it was because she didn't want them to know she was really a man."

Laura felt Lady Longtree's eyes on hers. The father? Lady Longtree mouthed, and Laura nodded.

Victoria shivered. "I didn't like him. Anyway, the two people came back down the hall, got into the elevator, and that's the last anyone ever saw of them - except for me," she finished dramatically.

William's eyes widened. "What did you do?"

Victoria sent him a triumphant look. "I got on the elevator with them. I wanted to see if I was right about her being a man, but I didn't know they were kidnappers then." She frowned. "I should have known, because they didn't coo at the babies or slobber kisses on them. Parents always do that, especially mothers. Anyway, the tall one reached out to push the button for the lobby, and that's when I saw his hand. It was hairy, really hairy, so I knew he was a man. We all got out in the lobby and I followed them to the front doors. A guard asked to see their identifications so they each showed him a bracelet that looked the same as the ones the babies had. The man used his other hand then, and it didn't have any hair. I tried to follow them outside but the guard wouldn't let me. So I watched from inside. I saw the kidnappers get in a car that was waiting in the hospital driveway. It turned left and vanished, never to be seen again!"

"Have you told this to anyone else?" Lady Longtree asked sharply.

"I told the guard in the lobby, but I don't think he believed me, and he told me to go back to my own floor. After that, I only told the nurses and the children up here, and my mother. And the police. They came later that afternoon. They kept asking what the kidnappers looked like, and gave me photographs of some women to look at to see if it was them. I thought that was dumb because how can you see what they really look like with scarves all over their faces? So all I said was that one was small and the other was tall and had green eyes, but I haven't told anyone but you that he was a man."

"I think you should tell the police that, too," Lady Longtree advised. "It might help them to find the babies faster. Men with green eyes are unusual."

"Then I haven't got a lead all my own, like Nancy Drew," Victoria objected.

"And the babies stay kidnapped longer," Lady Longtree argued firmly.

"I guess you're right," Victoria agreed half-heartedly.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the meal cart. "For all we know, the two babies aren't being fed, and even babies don't deserve that," Laura added as she saw Victoria's eyes fix on the tray of food.

Victoria looked shocked. "That would be cruel!"

"Kidnappers are cruel," Lady Longtree said implacably.

"Better tell them everything," William advised. Victoria looked at his face and nodded reluctantly. "Okay. I guess you're right. I will the next time they come in."

William pressed his advantage. "In the meantime, don't talk about it to anyone else. If the criminals find out you saw them, you could be in great danger!"

Victoria looked delighted but nodded gravely and promised she wouldn't talk to anyone. Laura didn't believe her. For an eight year old to refrain from boasting about knowledge only she possessed was almost impossible.

"The nurses might get mad, too," she said, hoping the more immediate threat of a scolding from the nurses might have at least some effect.

"I'll just talk to you," Victoria promised. "But you have to come back so I can tell you what I find next. I'm going back to the babies' floor tonight.

"Don't worry," she added kindly, seeing Laura's worried face. "I'll be very careful. No one will ever know I'm around and anyway, no one pays much attention to kids. They think we're dumb or something."

Laura hoped that was the case.

***********************

They separated after that, Lady Longtree to visit a friend in the administrative department, William to chat up the guard at the hospital entrance and Laura to pose as an American friend of Amy's who wanted to say hello while she was in England and would be appropriately disappointed to hear that Amy was on vacation.

The nurse she spoke with was chatty and told Laura all about the recent theft of two babies and how the kidnappers had foiled the hospital's security system by obtaining two extra bracelets that matched the ones issued to the baby and its parents. She was also very vocal on the subject of one of the fathers, who was furious about his baby daughter's disappearance because he had promised her to an uncle in marriage. Married before she's out of her cradle, the nurse had said disapprovingly.

William got a description of the getaway car and the perpetrators that matched Victoria's; Lady Longtree was treated to a lengthy explanation of the new and up-graded security system the hospital was installing. While listening, she managed to scribble the names and addresses of the families whose babies were stolen by reading them upside down from a file on the administrator's desk.

"Well done!" Laura congratulated her.

"Thank you my dear. Now," Lady Longtree went on, "I propose that we stop by the two houses on our way back to the hotel. I can pose as a census-taker" – she waved the clipboard in her hand – "and you and William can do some sleuthing around the area. We will have the cab wait for us."

Her plan backfired. Both houses were deserted, and they looked as if as if the occupants had left in a hurry. There were unwashed plates on the table and a few toys scattered on the floor, and an unmistakable air of being empty.

"Like the house where we saw the father," William noted.

Two children on bicycles rode up as they left the second house. "They went away," the boy said importantly. "Got into a big black motorcar with some men. I bet they were kidnapped too."

"Were not," the girl contradicted. "They went on holiday, stupid." A woman's voice called sharply and they rode off, still arguing.

The cabby, who had waited for them, beeped his horn impatiently. Laura was about to get into the cab behind William and Lady Longtree when a battered car drew up beside her. A tall man emerged. The father, she saw, too late. His fierce green eyes bored into hers, and the intensity of dislike in them was so strong that she flinched. Obviously, he didn't think much of women who kept turning up in his vicinity.

Laura ducked hastily into the cab. Her first feeling was relief that the father hadn't seen Lady Longtree or William – especially William. The second feeling was satisfaction. There was no doubt now that he was involved with this baby-stealing ring. He could even have sold his own daughter to them. She was his property, to do with as he wished, in his view at least.

Fast on their heels came a sinking sensation of fear. There was also no doubt that she was now on the father's enemy list. The thought was terrifying. A man like him would have no compunction about getting rid of her for good.
CHAPTER NINE

Time to focus on the clues she already had, Laura decided as the cab bore them back to the manor. The best form of self-defense was to figure out what was going on before her growing list of enemies struck again – or struck someone else. That was the real worry.

She changed quickly and went down to dinner. Over an excellent meal, she allowed her eyes to drift from one head to another, looking for coarse dark hair. It was quickly obvious that no one on the tour group had hair like that, and that Dr. Bernstein was the only candidate for a bald wig. She needed to get closer to him to make sure. The thought was so repellent that Laura hastily abandoned it and tried to determine from a distance if he wore a wig. That too, was a mistake. When she glanced up at him, she discovered that he was already was staring at her with alarming intensity. His probing eyes were either analyzing her, or - even more appalling – mentally taking off her clothes. What a ghastly thought!

To her relief, Violet interrupted this line of thought. Ever independent, Violet had also spent the afternoon on some pursuit of her own. She plopped down beside Laura, where a place had been saved for her.

"Oh dear, has be been at that all evening?" she asked, noticing Dr. Bernstein's stare. "What do you suppose he's up to?"

"I think I know and that's the trouble," Laura whispered in reply. "He and Claudine aren't on the best of terms just now and I suspect he is casting around for a substitute. I'm afraid I may be his candidate. Unless he really is trying to do me bodily harm as William thinks instead of another form of bodily attention.

"Maybe I'll sic him on you," she joked. "That should be interesting to watch."

Violet didn't laugh as she had expected. "I doubt you'd get very far," she said instead. "The good doctor seems to have developed a distaste for me that is almost as strong as mine for him. I wonder why that is?"

That was no rhetorical question, Laura realized. Violet really did want to know.

Dr. Bernstein's voice distracted them. He had begun to lecture on diabetes, a subject Lady Longtree had for some unaccountable reason introduced. Apparently his mother had suffered from the disease, and he considered himself an authority on the proper ways to treat it. His commanding tone was impossible to ignore.

If he went on like this all evening they would all be authorities, Laura grumbled to herself. Why had Lady Longtree brought it up?

She soon learned. As soon as Dr. Bernstein's paused for breath, the old lady turned to Margaret and Amy. "I wonder what you think about the disease," she asked pleasantly. "I know that diabetes is not your field," she added apologetically, "but as nurses I expect you hear a good bit about it, or perhaps you were taught about it as part of your training."

Both Margaret and Amy looked surprised, and Laura was struck again by how alike they were. "Uh, I guess so, I mean we probably did learn about it but you know how it is. The facts don't stay unless you use them," Amy mumbled vaguely, and turned to Margaret with a pleading look.

Margaret rose to the challenge. "I am not sure how well diabetes tests would work on infants because their systems are immature," she said evenly. "I imagine Dr. Bernstein knows far more about the disease than we do, anyway." Her voice took on an edge of bitterness as she continued. "Even if we were experts, I fear that doctors believe nurses are incapable of mastering the complex knowledge that leads to decisions about treatment. I often think doctors give us as little information as they can get away with. We are less threatening that way."

Amy flushed with embarrassment. "Now Margaret, I'm sure that's not really true," she muttered uneasily.

"Quite so," Lady Longtree inserted briskly. "There is certainly a modicum of truth in what Margaret says, is there not, Dr. Bernstein?"

The doctor turned an unpleasant shade of dusky pink. "I should say not!" he sputtered indignantly. "That is an absurd accusation against a noble profession."

Violet gazed dreamily at the ceiling. "I've always heard that nursing was the noblest profession. Florence Nightingale and all that," she murmured. Her yellow-brown eyes rested on Dr. Bernstein's face and Laura saw that they weren't at all dreamy. They were as focused as a hawk's on its prey.

"A few misguided people subscribe to that notion," he said, raising a disdainful eyebrow. Violet only smiled indulgently.

Laura tried not to laugh. Every person at the table was swiveling his or her head from one verbal contestant to the next like spectators at a tennis match.

Lady Longtree cleared her throat. "I understand that you are a medical doctor as well as a psychiatrist, Dr. Bernstein," she persisted.

"One cannot be a psychiatrist otherwise," Dr. Bernstein replied with pride. "Mind and body are interconnected in so many ways that it is necessary."

"Yes, I am certain it is," Lady Longtree agreed placidly. "And perhaps treatment also has to do with why one wished to become a psychiatrist to begin with," she went on, as if thinking the matter through. "Rather a discouraging profession I should think, unless one had some kind of personal interest in it. Concern with one's own impulses or fears, perhaps? But of course, I know so very little of the field."

"Bravo!" Violet said under her breath, just loudly enough for Dr. Bernstein to hear. What had the man done to arouse such antipathy from Violet? Could he have made a pass at her already? Laura smothered a laugh.

Still, she had to agree with Violet's one word assessment. Lady Longtree's expert though seemingly innocent questions had uncovered a number of insights: that Amy was surprisingly ignorant on medical matters and that Margaret, while intelligent, had a chip on her shoulder the size of a baseball bat. Dr. Bernstein, on the other hand, might be unbearably self-important and have questionable reasons for becoming a psychiatrist, but he did sound as if he really was one, not just a well-educated fake. Laura sighed. That was too bad. She had liked the idea.

Margaret rose abruptly, presumably to visit the ladies room before they left for the cathedral. Her face was strained and unhappy. Laura followed her. Margaret should know that one person at least admired her effort to stand up to Dr. Bernstein.

As she went down the hall, however, she almost ran into Dr. Bernstein himself. "Over here," he hissed. "Come quickly. I must speak to you!"

Baffled, Laura followed him. Dr Bernstein grabbed her arm and pulled her into a recessed area behind some telephone booths. With a forceful shove, he pinned her body against the wall. Laura gasped. Was this lust or something more ominous?

She tried to push him away, but he outweighed her by fifty pounds or more, and he was unexpectedly strong. Twisting her arms behind her, he pressed his shiny round head into her windpipe, cutting off most of her air. His pudgy belly squirmed against her hips with the unbridled enthusiasm of a teenager, while his damp palms slid up and down her body in a travesty of an intimate caress, ranging like a demented massage machine from breast to belly to upper thighs and back again. Perspiration dripped from his face, and his eyes were glazed, almost manic. He reeked of garlic.

A choking sound came from Laura's throat as he nibbled her neck with moist pink lips that crept ever closer to her mouth. If he got there she would throw up all over him...

At just that moment Lady Longtree came into the hall. Peering helplessly over Dr. Bernstein's shoulder, Laura flashed a desperate appeal for help with her eyes.

To her dismay, Lady Longtree took one look and dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. Leaning heavily on her ever-present umbrella, she heaved and writhed with mirth, all without making a sound.

Furious, Laura kicked savagely in the direction of Dr. Bernstein's shins. Her foot missed its mark, but her effort seemed to rouse Lady Longtree.

Uttering a discreet cough to disguise a chortle, she wandered toward the coat rack, tossing her umbrella to the ground with a thump as she went. "Now I wonder where I left those gloves," she murmured absent-mindedly and rummaged in the pocket of her coat.

Dr. Bernstein froze; then he leaped away from Laura and headed for the men's room at a trot, his backside bouncing with each step.

"Thanks a lot!" Laura exploded, picking up the fallen umbrella and handing it back to its owner.

"I did provide help eventually," Lady Longtree protested mildly. "But I am sorry, my dear. Still, if you could have seen your face, and his very round bottom grinding away. It positively quivered..." She leaned on her umbrella, once again helpless with laughter.

"I suppose it was funny," Laura conceded, and managed a smile. "If you'll keep watch so he doesn't waylay me again, I'll go wash my hands - maybe even my neck," she added. She shivered. "He really was pretty awful," she confessed.

Lady Longtree sobered. "Yes, I imagine he was," she agreed. "Actually, now that I've had time to consider the incident sensibly, Dr. Bernstein looked almost as if he were frisking you, if that's the right word," she mused unexpectedly.

"Frisking me?" Laura repeated in disbelief. "But why would he do that?"

"Presumably to find out if you have any weapons concealed beneath your girdle, which I strongly suspect he still thinks women wear since he hasn't looked for himself for a very long time," Lady Longtree replied.

"He wasn't wearing a wig," Laura said suddenly, as an image of Dr. Bernstein's bald pate snuggling against her neck flashed into her mind. It had been damp with sweat, and surely no one could sweat right thorough a wig. "I mean a bald wig," she explained.

"No, I don't think he wears one," Lady Longtree agreed. "It is too bad, don't you think? He makes such a good villain."

"Very much too bad," Laura agreed, heading for the ladies room to wash off what she could of Dr. Bernstein's amorous predations. Had he really been frisking her instead of feeling her up, as her daughter had called similar efforts on the part of teen-aged boys? Now that she thought about it, his hands had made a thorough survey of her body.

Preoccupied with these speculations, she almost collided with Mrs. Takara in front of the ladies room. Apologizing profusely, Mrs. Takara scuttled into a booth.

Margaret was still in there, and Violet was just leaving. Better not to mention her recent encounter with Dr. Bernstein to either of them, Laura decided. Both disliked the man sufficiently as it was. Instead, she told Margaret she agreed with her about nurses and admired her courage in speaking out.

"Thank you." Margaret blushed, almost painfully, and Laura wondered if anyone had ever praised her before. To relieve her from saying anything further, Laura turned to Violet and asked if she was coming to the Cathedral.

"Wouldn't miss it," Violet replied, rummaging through the huge bag she always carried on one shoulder. It was almost the size of a small suitcase, and Laura wondered what on earth Violet kept in its depths. "But don't be surprised if I leave early," Violet added as she closed the bag and went toward the door. "I'm a bit allergic to long stays in Cathedrals, and I like choral music, but only so much of it."

Laura smiled sympathetically. "I feel that way about sermons and lengthy services, but I love choral music, so I'll probably stay for all of that."

Violet flashed a grin and sauntered out, her long legs taking the sort of elastic strides Laura could only dream of. Shoving her envy aside, she tackled her neck with soggy paper towels that dribbled cooling water down her unprotected back. She tossed the towels into the wastebasket and wished she could toss them straight into Dr. Bernstein's perspiring face instead.

When she emerged Lady Longtree was still there as promised, and so was Alan, ready to escort them to the Cathedral. There was no sign of Dr. Bernstein.

Laura forced herself to focus on her surroundings. Wells was the smallest city in England, she remembered the guidebook telling her, and was renowned for its medieval walled precinct which enclosed the twelfth century Cathedral and the Bishop's Palace. A moat with a small curved bridge led to Vicar's Close, which was the last known home of a famous cross found in Arthur's grave, as well as being the oldest continuously used street in the country. Laura decided to look for it after the performance.

The Wells Cathedral stood in glorious isolation on an expanse of lawn, and the sight of its magnificent statue-covered façade erased any lingering revulsion left by her encounter with Dr. Bernstein. The inside of the building was equally impressive. Alan pointed out its most salient characteristics: the ancient clock that struck each quarter hour as jousting knights paraded in and out, and the unique "scissor arches" that had saved the building from collapse. The arch above the nave came together in the center, and then curved out again in another longer arch that rested on the floor. One arch right side up, the other upside down, Laura thought, in layman's terms. It was a simple and beautiful design, as well as a practical one.

The clock struck and they watched in delight as the knights jousted on schedule, then an usher told them they should take seats. Laura noticed that when Amy entered a pew she dropped to her knees, looking troubled and uncertain. Margaret sat stiffly beside her, but she didn't look at Amy or touch her. Actually, Laura thought, she had never seen Margaret touch anyone, except to shake hands. How very sad.

The singing began, transporting Laura into a realm of pure pleasure. The voices were rich and strong; they rose into the arched spaces of the Cathedral, seeming to linger around the listeners like invisible clouds. Laura sat entranced until the rehearsal was over. Then, with a deep sigh of repletion, she headed for the doors. The others were still sitting, digesting the music, except for the Takaras, who hurried toward the altar, cameras at the ready, probably hoping for photos of the choristers. Violet had left too.

Laura's attention was riveted by Dr. Bernstein. He rose from his seat and seemed poised to intercept her. Ducking across a pew, she darted out the other end and hurried to the door at the fastest pace she could manage without breaking into an undignified run. Outside, she sprinted for the nearest refuge, a large pedestal with a statue, and hid behind it. Dr. Bernstein stepped outside, looking perplexed by her sudden disappearance. Then he shrugged his shoulders and went in again.

Relieved, Laura walked across the little bridge over the moat to Vicar's Close. The small streets were twisty and full of shadows. She tried to imagine the black-gowned figures of the medieval choristers, for whom the Close had been built, hurrying back to their Spartan stone dwellings. How cold they must have been in winter!

She was aware suddenly of footsteps behind her. Had Dr. Bernstein managed to follow her despite her caution? Laura ducked into an alley to let the person pass so she could see who it was, but the footsteps stopped. Anger, unexpected and sharp, surged in her. She decided to foil the man. If he was Dr. Bernstein she would give him a piece of her mind; if he was the man who had followed her in Glastonbury who was trying out jeans instead of his trench coat, she would confront him and maybe even get rid of him. If he was the father...Well, she would deal with that if it happened.

Darting out of the alley, she walked rapidly back, giving her follower no time to get away. Not Dr. Bernstein, she realized. This man was younger, huskier. Nor was he the trench coat man, who was tall and slender. Or the father, thank goodness.

Unable to escape, he stared at her impassively; then he turned into a side street. Laura stared after him. He wasn't a distinctive man, just an ordinary one, rather swarthy, but she was certain she had seen him before. She looked again at his retreating back. She had seen him walk away from her before, too...

Of course! The man in the teashop in Bath! The one she and Violet and Lady Longtree and William had retreated to after Joe had been run down. The man had sat studying a racing form and then gone into a back room to phone in his bet, or so she had assumed as she watched his retreating back.

How crazy! Or was it? Maybe horse racing hadn't been the man's real interest; maybe he had been watching her, phoning in a report on her. In fact, she could have been under surveillance by this man, maybe the trench coat and a blue jeans man as well, ever since she had found the baby in the Baths. Maybe the trench coat man had even been searching her room just before she had run into him. She remembered the mess in her closet, the unpleasant smell of disinfectant. Fingerprinting?

Laura frowned. Something nagged at her, as if she hadn't got the man's identity quite right. She turned into the narrow street her pursuer had taken, hoping for another look at him. It led her to a second bridge, a bigger one. She started across but ducked quickly behind a stone bulwark when she spotted three people huddled on the far side, talking softly. One of them was the man she had just seen. But who were the others?

The Takaras, she saw in astonishment. She had thought they were taking pictures in the Cathedral. And why were they talking to the man who had been following her? It made no sense at all.

The three moved off, and Laura turned to go back. Footsteps sounded again, not behind her this time, but running away from her. That was a welcome change.

Too curious to resist, Laura followed, and rounded a sharp turn just in time to see the person duck down another alley and disappear. She gasped in shock. Violet! The long legs, the elastic stride and tall figure, the short red hair couldn't be mistaken.

Except she wasn't Violet, not really. The person she had seen looked like Violet, but she, or he, was a man.
CHAPTER TEN

Nursing her anger at Violet for deceiving her and at herself for being so easily deceived, Laura stormed into the bathroom to get ready for bed. She would confront Violet tonight, she decided, before her erstwhile friend had a chance to avoid her. Then she remembered that Violet had her own room for tonight and wouldn't be here.

Frustrated anew, Laura grabbed her toothbrush and scrubbed with unnecessary force at her teeth. An image in the wide mirror caught her eye, and for a moment she almost stopped breathing. A small form lay crumpled in the bathtub behind her; two plump legs stuck out from it at unnatural angles....

Laura turned slowly, not wanting to see, not wanting even to think the object could be what she suspected it was. But it was. A baby, another baby, almost exactly the same size as the baby she had found in the Baths, only this one still hadn't moved, didn't look as if it could move. It was all wrong, too crumpled, too still...

Heart pounding, she crept closer. The small feet were enclosed in pink slippers, the little fists were tightly clenched; the head was turned to one side, so that the round cheek was pressed upwards...

Laura leaned over the bathtub, stared for a few seconds and then gasped with the shock of relief. A doll, a life-sized doll. It was only a doll.

She clung to the edge of the tub, feeling faint and sick to her stomach. The sensation passed, and anger took its place. What a dastardly trick! Why would anyone do such a thing?

A crude message written in heavy black ink on the doll's dress made that obvious. It was only a big circle with an "X" inside it, but the meaning was clear. Someone who wanted her to stop interfering and asking questions had left the doll. But who?

Violet was the most likely culprit, Laura thought bitterly, since she was the only other person who had a key to the room. That oversized bag of hers could be a clue, too. It would easily hold a doll, as well as clothes and other props that turned Violet into a man, or a woman, on demand.

Another thought intruded. Could Violet really be a man? She always waited politely to use the bathroom so they didn't have to share, and always undressed in there. British prudery or a more ominous sign? Violet was almost six feet tall and had a deep, gruff voice. But could a beard be disguised that well?

Pulling the shower curtain across the tub, Laura staggered out of the bathroom and collapsed on the bed. What should she do now? Probably she ought to tell someone about the doll. But who?

Reluctantly, Laura decided Alan was the best choice. He was the manager of the tour so it was his job. Sighing with tiredness, she got up again and went down the hall toward Alan's room.

Footsteps at the end of the corridor made her whirl. Laura ducked behind a door that led to the stairs. Her eyes opened wide in disbelief. This was like a replay! Coming down the hall at a run was the tall woman with the long red hair. But this time she held a child under each arm, each about the same size as the one in the bathtub and the one in the Baths. These two were clearly alive and well. Two sets of chubby legs kicked mightily, and both babies looked as if they were on the verge of a tantrum.

The woman rapped desperately at Alan's door with one free finger. It opened promptly and Alan peered out. He stared at her, astounded. Then, seeming to recollect himself, he grabbed one of the babies just as it let out its first howl. As soon as the woman and the other baby were inside, he closed the door hastily. Laura heard another howl, muffled now, and then there was silence.

Had they gagged the poor little creature or just dashed into the bathroom with it and closed that door too? Laura waited, unsure what to do next. Half of her wanted to barge into Alan's room and demand explanations, the other half urged caution.

Another muted cry emerged, quickly stifled. Envisioning gags or worse, Laura emerged from the stairwell to rescue the babies. When she got closer to Alan's room she heard chortles and noisy slurping, the reassuring sound of hungry babies sucking at their bottles. She relaxed. It didn't sound as if the children were in imminent danger.

She returned to her room and was about to close the door when Lady Longtree's opened. Surely, the venerable lady wasn't going to appear with another baby in tow?

To her astonishment, Hans emerged. Lady Longtree was out of sight, but Laura heard her voice bidding him a fond good night. Laura gaped. Hans making a nocturnal visit to Lady Longtree?

Hans cast a lingering look at Lady Longtree; then he tiptoed down the hall to his room. His face changed when Lady Longtree's door closed. He looked as if he were gloating now, Laura saw, like a man who had scored a victory. She cringed. Hans as a self-satisfied lothario held no appeal, and the idea of Lady Longtree indulging in a secret affair in the dead of night was simply preposterous, not because of her age but because she was Lady Longtree. It felt all wrong.

Shaking her head in bewilderment, Laura tumbled into bed. She'd had enough! All problems and puzzles would have to wait until morning.

Unfortunately, her brain didn't agree and her sleep was filled with nightmares about babies and doors that kept opening and closing. It was also short. At six-thirty in the morning, a loud knock interrupted her uneasy slumber.

"Sorry, pet," a voice with a strong cockney accent said from the other side. "You've had a change of plan. Off to the Safari Park at Longleat, I hear, so I've got to rouse all of you early. Mr. Mansfield will explain at breakfast."

"Thank you," Laura mumbled, aware that she sounded exceedingly grumpy.

"Make yourself a good cuppa, that's the thing," the voice advised.

"Guess I'd better," Laura replied, and stumbled over to the tray that held an automatic pot, tea bags and all else that was required for the ubiquitous cup of tea. She had flipped the switch on the pot and headed into the bathroom for a shower before she remembered the doll. Her steps slowed.

The closed shower curtain was a relief. Deciding a shower wasn't essential and she didn't have time anyway, Laura made her tea and drank it gratefully as she dressed, and then headed downstairs. She would decide what to do with the doll after breakfast. She didn't want the maid to find it – that could cause all sorts of talk, and give the poor woman a terrible shock as well.

Alan appeared as soon as all of them had arrived in the lovely garden room used for breakfast. Laura regarded him curiously. He didn't look as weary as she felt, despite the interruption last evening. She wondered where the babies were now, and the red-haired woman. Had they left again?

"We've had a change of plan," Alan told them. "We will go to the Safari Park at Longleat today instead of Stourhead Gardens. He went on to explain that Stourhead was bathed in dense fog that was expected to lift tomorrow, when they could try again, and that the Safari Park at Longleat was less crowded on a weekday. In addition, he had been able to arrange an early entrance if they could arrive by eight o'clock.

"To see the animals so early is really a treat," he said enthusiastically. "They are most active then. I think you will enjoy it immensely, and the fog won't bother us nearly as much there. We'll have lunch in a restaurant on the premises; in the afternoon anyone who wishes can venture into Longleat's truly devilish maze, or you can tour the lovely Manor House."

Laura brightened. She had looked forward with special enthusiasm to the Safari Park. That would take her mind off babies and baths and night-time assignations, if anything could.

The first stop was the East African preserve, where grazing animals – antelope, camels, zebras and giraffes, even llamas and ostriches, roamed across the savannah-like countryside. The animals looked very much at home and paid little attention to their human visitors. More animals, tapirs and wallabies, pygmy goats and ponies, occupied other enclosures. Some of the wallabies had little ones peeking out of their pouches, which sent Amy into raptures of delight. Laura was glad to see her looking happy again.

They went next to the monkey jungle, where inquisitive and lively monkeys roamed free. Unlike the grazing animals, they were fascinated by their visitors. They climbed all over the bus, peered in the windows and tried to get inside, slapped the windshield wipers up and down, and were generally an amusing nuisance.

The predators – tigers, lions and wolves - also roamed freely, each group in its own habitat. The people viewing them were restricted to cars with the windows rolled up. Laura found the switch apt, but suspected that some of the predators were frustrated by captivity despite the large size of their enclosures and the nearly invisible fences that separated them. Along one side, a steep hillside formed an even more natural-looking barrier. Laura looked up at it as a watchful caretaker opened the heavy gate into the lion enclosure, and blinked in surprise. The road to Longleat was perched at the top of the hill. Here, they could be in Africa; up there, cars full of tourists drove along, oblivious to the wild animals below.

The lions at least didn't seem frustrated. They lay about, yawning; occasionally they rose laboriously to their feet and ambled around and then lay down again. One more energetic female tried repeatedly to persuade a male to mate but he ignored her until she became so insistent he had to comply. He accomplished the act in seconds, emitted a half-hearted roar, then lay down and slept again.

Not much romance there, Laura mused, unimpressed. The tigers were more interesting, and to her, far more beautiful. Their long bodies were sleek and muscular, and the ornate patterns on their backs rippled as they strolled along. One of them looked directly at her as it passed within inches of the bus, and it seemed to Laura that all the wildness and beauty of the environment it had once inhabited lived in those gleaming yellow eyes. Yes, she thought, the tigers might easily be frustrated by captivity, no matter how well arranged.

She wasn't sure about the wolves. They were very social, which might foster contentment. Even if they didn't have to hunt in a pack, the usual rules of behavior were clearly in force. The dominant female was easy to spot since she had pups cavorting around her and milk-heavy teats to feed them. So was the dominant male, whose mere presence seemed to keep all but a few select pack-mates away from the carcass of a deer they had been given. The lowest ranking male stood out, too, and Laura felt sorry for him. His coat was mangy, he looked half starved; his tail hung low between his legs. She wondered what characteristics had determined his lowly fate and if he would ever get a chance to rise above his station.

The pups were a delight. All the members of the pack seemed to look after this precious new generation; they licked them, made sure they didn't stray too far, tolerated their nips and growls with equanimity, and, Laura thought, provided an excellent model for appropriate parenting. They paid no attention to the bus or anyone in it, except to cast an occasional bored glance in their direction.

Laura suddenly became aware that all around her cameras were clicking. Belatedly, she pulled out her own.

"I got good pictures of the wallabies, too. I'll send you some," Amy offered. "The babies peeping out of their mother's pouches were so dear, aren't they?"

Laura looked at her more carefully. Amy wasn't just reacting to the baby animals; she really was her usual cheerful self today. Margaret looked better too, as if some weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Laura was relieved and wondered what had happened to make the difference. As soon as she could, she would get Amy alone again and try to find out.

"Now to the Cellars for lunch," Alan told them as they came out of the park. "We go through the Victorian kitchens to get there. You'll find them interesting."

"And be glad you don't have to use them," Violet contributed wryly as she and Laura viewed tools for crushing grain and other ancient implements, which made it abundantly clear that in those days all edibles were prepared not just from scratch but came straight from the fields and barns.

Violet sounded so like herself that Laura flinched. How was she to come up with her usual bantering response, knowing what she did now? She would never be able to talk normally to Violet again until she found out who she was.

In the restaurant, however, a private chat was impossible. The room reverberated with noise. Anything she said would echo all the way across the room or disappear in the confusion of competing sounds. Laura settled for observing her companions instead. Anyone in this group, like Violet, could be hiding a second persona. But who, and how to tell?

Hans was the most likely person, she reflected, recalling the odd interlude with Lady Longtree, but he had apparently been called back to Switzerland. No one seemed to know why or when he would be back. Everyone else was behaving normally, to Laura's frustration. Dr. Bernstein lectured Alan on the role of animal research in comprehending mental states; William had a faraway look in his eyes that could mean he was rehearsing a piano concerto in his head or that he was taking mental notes on the people around him. The others were acting in character, too, even Lady Longtree, whose eyes missed nothing even as she listened to Amy's chatter. Watching her, Laura found it harder than ever to make sense of last night's tryst with Hans.

William fell into step beside her as they headed for the maze, and she asked him what he had thought of the Safari. He smiled amiably.

"The animals were great, but what I really liked was comparing them to the people. Dr. Bernstein would make an excellent baboon, don't you think? They have such amazing bright red rumps. I suppose that's what made me think of him. Violet is a tigress or one of the hawks; she looks friendly but watch out for those talons. Amy is an ostrich; she has her head in the sand and thinks everything is always all right, or wants to think so, and Margaret's a lonely wolf who's not very high in the pecking order and knows that everyone is out to get her. Let's see, who are you?"

Laura laughed. So that was what William had been thinking about over lunch! How delightful.

"I'd like to be a beautiful gazelle running free on the plains, but I don't think I am," she said wistfully. "Let's see. I think I am really one of the monkeys who are always investigating everything and making nuisances of themselves.

"How about Claudine?" she asked. "Which one is she?"

"Oh, she's a tiger," William answered without hesitation. "Not the one who does the killing, though. She watches and waits, and she does her damndest to get her share. She's good at it, too."

Laura shook her head in admiration. William had a lot to teach her. "Who are the dominant wolves?" she asked, aware that she would really like an answer.

"My grandmother is the dominant female, definitely, and I think..." William hesitated but then seemed to make up his mind. "Actually, I don't think we have a dominant male right now. He might turn up, though," he added mischievously.

"What do you mean by that?" Laura asked, intrigued.

"I'll explain later," William promised as Alan stopped them to give instructions.

"This way to the Manor House, that way to the maze," Alan said, pointing. "We'll meet at the bus again at about five-thirty."

"I said I'd find my grandmother at the house," William told her. "Join us if you want." Laura was about to go with him when she saw Violet heading for the maze and decided to follow her instead. Surely there was a private spot somewhere among all those hedges where they could talk.

William was already loping away. "I'll give the maze a try," she called to him, and hurried after Violet. Her effort was useless. Violet had already vanished, and even if she turned up again, there were no private spots for talking. The hedges were over seven feet tall and two feet thick, which meant that anyone could lurk unseen on the other side, listening avidly.

Laura sneezed, an explosive sneeze that suggested she was allergic to every one of the 16,000 British yews the maze was reputed to contain. More sneezes followed, each more violent than the last. No one would have any trouble finding her, Laura reflected dispiritedly, even if she couldn't find them.

Where was everyone, anyway? It was eerily silent in here. Maybe the shrubbery absorbed all the usual shrieks and giggles. Or maybe she was the only person who had been dumb enough to come into this ghastly place.

Violet had come in, she reminded herself, but who was Violet really?

Laura shivered convulsively. She had never liked confined places, and the maze was positively claustrophobic. Dense walls of greenery hemmed her in on all sides, even above her, curving high above her head like menacing giants. She couldn't see over them, through them or even along them, so there was no way to tell where she was going. She couldn't see anyway. The fog had come back and competed with occasional flashes of sun, making oddly shifting shadows that blinded her. Nothing she looked at was clear, nor did anything seem to stay where it was.

She'd better get out of here before a full-fledged attack of claustrophobia set in. But where was out?

Just retrace your steps and go back to the entrance, Laura lectured herself, but she was wrong about that, too. The entrance wasn't where it should have been. She felt the first stirrings of panic. The maze went on for more than two miles, she remembered reading. She might never get out of something that long!

Taking a deep, calming breath, she dredged her memory for everything she had ever read or heard about mazes. All she could come up with was a long-ago friend's remark that turning only to the left was supposed to work. She decided to try but found only repeated dead ends. Turning to the right didn't work either. Laura plodded on, her steps dragging. Surely, if she just kept walking, she would come out eventually. She wasn't sure she believed it.

Two kids wearing baggy pants passed her. Laura opened her mouth to ask if they knew the way out, but they were so absorbed in each other that they didn't even see her. She followed them anyway. At least they were company. They went around one bend, then another, and then she lost them in the thickening fog.

There was someone behind her, too. She could hear the footsteps clearly. She turned to look but no one was visible. She would just stay where she was until the person caught up, Laura decided.

The footsteps stopped when she stopped. She waited for them to start up again; then she gave up and kept going. The footsteps resumed. Laura frowned. Was it possible she was being followed even in here?

Probably it was just another befuddled tourist trying to find the way out, she reassured herself. But why then, did the footsteps stop and start when she did?

She decided to test them. First she sped up, then she slowed down, and then she stopped. The footsteps mimicked her pattern.

Someone really was following her! Fear shot through Laura, and her heart began to beat wildly. How could she escape her pursuer in this impenetrable labyrinth of paths that went nowhere? She couldn't even hide. The hedges were much too thick and prickly for her to squeeze into them. She sneezed again, reminding her that she couldn't even be quiet. All she could do was walk in meaningless patterns, sneezing uncontrollably, until whoever it was back there caught up with her and... and what? Stuck a knife in her back?

Panic-stricken now, Laura started to run. She heard her pursuer running after her; then, unaccountably, the footsteps stopped. She blundered on. Maybe he had given up.

As she rounded the next corner, a foot shot through the bush in front of her. Laura saw it too late, tripped over it and crashed to the ground. Her palms scraped painfully against the hard ground and the wind whooshed out of her lungs. Gasping, she fought for air.

A large form loomed over her, arm raised to strike. Laura scrabbled away from it, but was brought to a halt by the hedges. Cowering, she covered her head with her hands and waited for the blow to fall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Running feet pounded toward Laura. Abruptly, the looming figure disappeared. Then she heard Violet's voice. "Laura, are you all right?"

Could it have been Violet who had tripped her, Violet who had stood over her? But who then had run? Laura wanted to weep with the futility of trying to figure it all out. Someone was turning her life into a nightmare, but who?

"Just leave me alone," she moaned, unaware that she had spoken aloud. Violet knelt beside her and took her hands from her face. Her fingers were busy exploring for... for what? Broken bones?

"Laura," Violet said firmly. "I need you to answer me and tell me if you are all right. Does anything hurt? Or are you just winded?"

Laura didn't answer the question, Instead, to her surprise, she raised herself on one elbow and whispered: "Oh Violet, who are you anyway?"

Violet swore under her breath. "Damn, I was afraid of that." Laura saw her look around carefully, checking for listeners, but it was impossible to see much in the fog. When she spoke again her voice was very low.

"I really am Violet," she said into Laura's ear. "If I could, I would tell you more about who I am but I cannot, at least not in here. Laura, can you trust me enough to get you out of here? Then I will tell you what I can. This is not the right spot for private conversations."

"So I concluded earlier when I decided to confront you," Laura agreed, trying not to sob with relief. Maybe after all, Violet was still her friend.

"Just get me out of this beastly place and you'll be my hero for life," she added fervently, glad that she sounded more like herself. "And no, I'm not hurt. Just furious – at you, at everybody, and the whole world."

She sneezed again, and Violet rolled her eyes. "If you want to keep on playing detective, which I wish you would not, you'd better get allergy shots," she advised. "No one has any trouble following you."

"Everyone seems to be doing that," Laura replied crossly. "Three of them at least, I think. You're the only one who ran the other way."

Violet sighed heavily. "So that was it. But not here, outside."

In a shorter time than Laura had believed possible, they were out of the maze. She felt like cheering. Even better, the fog wasn't nearly as thick out here. To be able to see what was around her again was sheer joy.

Never, ever, under any circumstances, Laura vowed, would she try that or any other maze again. She was not cut out for that kind of exploration.

"Now for one of those infamous cups of tea," Violet said, after a glance at Laura's strained face. "There's an outdoor café we can try. It's relatively private, at least."

"Tea sounds magnificent," Laura agreed. "So does sitting down - especially in a place where there aren't any yews."

"No bushes at all," Violet concurred. "We don't want listening ears."

They took their trays to an isolated table that was open on all sides so they could see anyone coming before he or she got too close. Still, Violet looked around carefully to make sure no one was in earshot before she spoke.

"I am sorry I've had to deceive you," she said quietly. "I had no choice. I still have no choice. I can only ask you to believe that although I am not quite who I said I was, I am Violet, and I am female to boot, and I hope I am still your friend. Other than that I can't say much except that I am on your side. I have the same objective, to find out what is wrong on this tour. That is my job. And something is wrong, something that involves a very sophisticated criminal organization."

Violet's eyes scanned the area again, and Laura had to lean close to hear her next words. "We believe one or more of the tour members are in league with the organization but we don't yet know who they are. We are getting close, though, very close, and to say too much now could spoil everything."

"We?" Laura was intrigued. So much about the way Violet had acted made sense if she really was a kind of private detective. But could she be believed? Laura decided she could. Otherwise, that blow would have fallen and she might not be here at all.

Violet nodded. "I can't tell you much about the people I work for, except that they are legitimate and experienced. One of them was keeping an eye on you – or trying," she added in a lighter tone. "He was becoming quite frustrated with your tendency to sneak about at night and vanish into alleys and other unlikely spots."

"You mean one of them was protecting me and not just following me?" Laura was astonished. "But which one? And why?"

"You already know why," Violet replied tartly. "Someone doesn't like you because you found a baby and insist on snooping and foiling their best-laid plans. My advice is for you to stop, but I fear that even if you agreed it might be too late. These are not trusting people, and their instinct is to get rid of anyone who gets in their way.

"As for which person was protecting you, you have already bumped into him once before, I believe."

Laura stared at her, dumbfounded. "The elegant trench coat man!" she breathed. And she had been so mad at him, poor man.

"You said was, not is," she pointed out. "I haven't seen him recently."

Violet hesitated. "He is temporarily out of commission," she answered finally. Laura waited for more but nothing was forthcoming.

"I wonder who the blue jean man is then," she mused aloud.

Violet did answer that one. "Someone less nice," she said, and her voice was very serious again. She leaned closer and her hawk-like eyes were intent on Laura's face. "I need to impress two things on you. First, these people are dangerous. Do not forget that. Second, what I have told you must be kept in strict confidence, and I mean really strict. I don't want my cover blown, not right now. So for goodness sake, don't start treating me any differently than before. If anyone knows you suspected me or were mad at me, don't let it be known if it is no longer so. I wish I could keep you out of it altogether, but short of gagging and binding you I don't see how it can be done."

This was a very different Violet, Laura thought, almost regretfully. She had liked the delightful, less complicated one. No doubt, though, Violet was both.

"No one knows I suspected you," she assured Violet. "I haven't told anybody on the tour anything because I didn't know who to trust. Everyone seems to have some kind of hidden agenda."

"Good. Now, that's all I can tell you at the moment, but I would like to hear anything you have found out. Whatever you can tell us will be appreciated, and will be kept confidential. I am particularly interested in the hospital visit I understand you and Olivia and William made."

"Did Lady Longtree tell you about it?" Laura asked.

"I tackled her about it," Violet answered. "Like you, I was concerned for her safety and for William's." She sighed. "There seems no way to stop those two from getting involved, as I gather you are aware – or the dynamo in the wheelchair.

"In case you're worried about Victoria, a highly competent policewoman cum nurse has been posted at her door," Violet added. "Where Victoria goes, she goes.

"And now I would like your version of the hospital visit and everything else you can tell me."

Obediently, Laura described the hospital visit and her unexpected encounter with the father. Then she recounted everything she could think of that seemed to involve the case, from the time after her near-accident on the street, which Violet had witnessed, to her adventures of the night before, including seeing the Takaras and the man from the teashop, and her doubts about Hans. Violet listened with grave attention, but her lips twitched suspiciously when Laura described her encounter with Maisie.

Laura had a sudden inspiration. "That was you!" she exclaimed.

"Possibly," Violet answered with a grin. "What exactly did you find in that alley? And who is the man who came to your rescue?"

"I found, as you probably know, a bunch of clothes and a wig that could have been worn by the person who pushed me into the street, if anyone did, the one William thinks was Dr. Bernstein in drag. I also found some dark hairs in the wig, short and curly and coarse. No one in the tour group has that kind of hair.

"And I found two long red hairs on a silk scarf that probably came from the lady who went into Alan's room with the babies," she added. "I saw her go into his room in Glastonbury, too, by the way," she added. "I forgot that bit."

"And the man who escorted you home? Violet prompted.

"Oh, that's Richard," Laura answered casually, and hoped she wasn't blushing. "He walked me home and then we agreed to meet for coffee the next morning. He was very helpful," she added defensively.

Violet's eyebrows went up. "I'm surprised he didn't proposition you in that get-up," she commented, "instead of settling for coffee."

Laura laughed. She had underestimated Violet. "He almost did, but I asked him for coffee instead. It worked quite well, since he turned out to be a journalist. He's checking out the tour and the people on it for me."

"I hope it's all right that I talked to him," she added ruefully. "I really needed to talk to someone who wasn't involved in the tour."

"We're running some checks on him," Violet answered.

Laura was confused. "But if you're already running checks on him, you must know who he is, so why did you ask me?"

"I need to get all the perspectives," Violet answered carefully.

"Which is code for checking every person's story with everyone else's," Laura translated. Which meant, she realized, that she too had been a potential suspect, not just to the police but also to Violet. How astonishing!

Or maybe she still was. "Am I a suspect?" she asked bluntly.

Violet tried not to smile. "Not that I know of at the moment," she offered. "I'll admit we were baffled by you at first. We'd expected a staid professorial type and you didn't exactly match. You've been well checked out, however. Of course," she added mischievously, "our information could be wrong."

Laura laughed. "I'm really who I say I am, too," she said.

She frowned. "How did you know someone tripped me?" she asked. "You couldn't have shown up at the right moment just by chance."

"I was keeping an eye on you and everyone else from a raised platform in the maze with the help of these," Violet told her, pointing to the binoculars hanging around her neck. "At least I was until fog made it impossible. Then I settled for prowling around the maze, listening for sneezes. I've studied the plan, too, but that's confidential.

"One more thing," she said, looking straight at Laura. "We cannot be seen having a private talk like this again. So please don't try. And do try not to be alone."

Reluctantly, Laura nodded. "I wish I knew who to trust and who not to," she said mournfully. "It's horrid to go around suspecting everyone, and I don't know who to stay with so I'm not alone, either."

"Trust your instincts," Violet advised. "Your judgment is better than you think. But watch your back, Laura, please. These people are ruthless."

Her face was so serious that Laura was shocked. This was most definitely a different Violet. "I will," she promised. "I intend to be very careful indeed. Especially of the father. He really seems to hate me."

Tour members began to straggle out of the Manor House and the maze, and they all piled into the bus. Violet slid into the seat behind the driver, Abdul, and Laura sat beside her. That shouldn't arouse suspicion; she had to sit beside someone.

Abdul turned his head to look into the rear-view mirror and Laura stifled a gasp. Under the driver's cap he always wore, Abdul had dark curly coarse hair. He didn't have a beard, either. How idiotic of her not to think of him before!

She glanced at Violet and wondered if she had chosen the seat for that purpose. Even if she hadn't been smart enough to consider Abdul as a possible suspect, Violet probably had. Her friend's next remark confirmed the thought.

"A very useful discovery, those hairs," she murmured, too low for anyone else to hear over the noise of the motor. "Odd, isn't it, how one tends to ignore what is out of context. We don't see what we don't expect to see."

"Glad it was helpful," Laura muttered, furious at herself for being so blind. She had hardly looked at Abdul until now. What else hadn't she seen?

When she left the bus she turned, as if looking back to see if she had left anything on the seat, and glanced casually at Abdul. Her eyes opened wide in shock. Abdul wasn't just the bus driver she had failed to suspect. He was also the man with the racing form, the man who had followed her after the rehearsal, and the man she had seen talking to the Takaras on the bridge.

************************

No wonder she hadn't been satisfied with her identification of the man following her in Vicar's Close, Laura thought glumly. She had been looking at Abdul for days without seeing him because one didn't pay attention to bus drivers. She had even felt sorry for him because he had to wait for long hours while the tour group disported themselves in gardens and museums, and all the while he had been following her, intent on his deadly purposes. There had been plenty of time for him to dress up as a woman and shove her into the street, and the next day to grab a ladder and drop a rock on her head.

There was nothing suspicious about the fact that the Takaras had been talking to him either, Laura thought glumly. All that showed was that they were friendlier and more observant than she was, and knew their bus driver well enough to recognize him out of context and to hold a conversation with him. Nor was she surprised that William had mistaken him for Dr. Bernstein. The two men had similar coloring and features, and would look even more alike with a wig.

The question now was how to convey the new information to Violet, who had perversely disappeared the moment they had left the bus. How was she to do that when they couldn't be seen talking privately together?

Pondering this dilemma, Laura went up to her room. She found Violet already there, waiting patiently on the window seat. "Thought I'd leap on up as I wanted a look at that doll," Violet explained. "No one saw me, but I can't stay long."

"I certainly didn't see you," Laura answered. "First, though, I need to tell you the rest of the story about Abdul."

"Thanks. That really helps," Violet said when she had finished her account. "But for goodness sake don't tell anyone else, or let him know you've recognized him.

"I got quite a shock when I realized who he was," Laura admitted. "I hope it didn't show on my face. I don't think he noticed, though."

"Let's hope not," Violet agreed. "Now let's see that doll."

"I hid it in the closet so the maids wouldn't see it," Laura explained as she went to fetch the doll. "It can't stay there, though, so I hope you'll take it."

"I plan to, as evidence," Violet agreed soberly.

Laura opened the closet door and dug under her laundry, where she had hidden the doll. It wasn't there. She rummaged deeper, thinking that it might have fallen behind her suitcase, but it simply wasn't there.

She looked up at Violet, who had come to stand behind her. "It's gone," she said shakily. "Someone must have come in today and taken it."

"Damn!" Violet's lips compressed. "Any suspects?"

"Definitely," Laura answered. "Abdul could have driven back here after the Safari, grabbed the doll and easily been back in time to pick us all up -"

She broke off abruptly. "But then who tripped me in the maze?"

Violet nodded thoughtfully. "Good question. If not Abdul, who?"

She stood and stretched. "Well, I'd better get moving again. For the moment, don't say anything to anyone, Laura, even to people you trust. And do take care. We are getting close and someone is getting scared. I will assign someone else to you, but we're a bit short-handed at the moment."

"I will," Laura promised soberly. Finding the doll had been bad enough, but not finding it where she had left it was disturbing in a way that the nasty trick had not been. Fear returned like a knot in her belly. It was not a nice feeling.

Violet gave her a quick hug and disappeared again, and Laura was left alone to wonder who among the tour members might want to get rid of her. She also wondered what Violet would do, if anything, about Abdul.

She got her answer the next morning when she climbed into the bus to go to Stourhead Gardens. Abdul was no longer in the driver's seat. Alan sat there instead.

Laura was relieved. Violet must have taken Abdul into custody.

"I shall be your driver for the morning," Alan announced. "Abdul is sick, so for the moment you will have to put up with me. We head first to King Alfred's Tower, which is high on the hill above Stourhead Gardens. For that reason it is also called a folly, the name given in the eighteenth century to structures that were built for no purpose except to impress the neighboring community. Like this one, they were placed where everyone for miles around could see them."

Folly might also be an appropriate name for the enormous houses being built on beaches, mountain ridges and other highly visible locales in the U. S., Laura thought with amusement, rather like an adult version of king-of-the-hill the boys in her neighborhood loved to play. It also mimicked the behavior of fifty thousand-year-old males and their primate cousins with uncanny accuracy.

"There is a glorious view to be had for anyone wanting to climb the two hundred and five steps that lead to the top, "Alan went on. "There is also a lovely walk from the base of the tower to the gardens below, as well as a steep scramble for those who prefer more vigorous exercise. I will, of course, drive anyone who wants to the garden entrance as well. We'll regroup for lunch at the garden Café at one o'clock."

Only a few tour members wanted to undertake the climb: the Takaras, the Bernsteins and Violet. With some trepidation, Laura decided to join them. Maybe she would have a chance to talk to Violet at the top without arousing suspicion. Besides, the folly looked interesting, and the view sounded wonderful.

Bracing herself, she started up the narrow stone steps that wound around the inside of the tower. Like tunnels, circular stairways held unpleasant memories from her last trip, especially when they were as dark as this one. Violet leaped ahead with her usual long stride and unflagging vigor, and Laura didn't even try to keep up. She couldn't keep up with Claudine, either, who turned out to be unexpectedly fit. Of Dr. Bernstein, there was no sign. Maybe he had given up.

Laura finally emerged, breathing hard, and was rewarded by a spectacular view. All of Stourhead Gardens and the surrounding countryside lay below. She stared out for a long time, entranced. When she finally tore herself away, Violet was no longer there. The only people she could see were a stout, red-faced woman, the Takaras, who were snapping away with their cameras, and Claudine. She was gazing out from an opening in the battlements and seemed relaxed and almost peaceful without her husband. Laura suddenly felt very sorry for her. Being married to Dr. Bernstein must be a terrible trial.

Laura glanced once more at the panorama and started down the steep stairs again. The circular pattern made her dizzy, so she went slowly. She hoped Dr. Bernstein wasn't on his way up. She couldn't get past him without another belly to belly confrontation, and this time she definitely would throw up. It would be a great revenge but extremely smelly and uncomfortable, for her as well as him.

She heard the Takaras behind her and quickened her pace. They were moving with surprising speed, and she didn't want to hold them up.

There was a scuffle behind her and a muted cry, and then Mrs. Takara suddenly plummeted into her, knocking her completely off balance. Laura tried to brace herself against the wall, but something hit her hard on the back, and she hurtled headfirst down the steep stone stairs.
CHAPTER TWELVE

Laura flung out both arms to stop her headlong descent. Her flailing hands touched a large soft mass, which turned out to be the well-padded stomach of a rotund tourist who was taking a break beside one of the tiny windows that provided a small amount of light.

"Steady there," he said, grabbing her arms and pulling her upright. "These steps are dangerous if you lose your footing. Take a bit of a rest like me and get your breath."

"Thank you," Laura gasped, and looked behind her for the Takaras. They weren't in sight and didn't seem to be moving, so she decided to get down the rest of the way before they caught up. Intentionally or not, they were bad for her health.

"I'm all right," she assured her savior. "I'll just go on down before I lose my nerve."

"Slowly," he cautioned. Laura nodded sagely but ignored the sound advice and scuttled down as fast as she could. Her thoughts raced. Had Mr. Takara pushed his wife into her? Maybe he was the person who wanted to get rid of her. If so, he must be the criminal in the group, or one of them. Maybe he wanted to get rid of his wife as well. Two birds with one stone, so to speak - the nosy lady and the dowdy wife who could then be replaced with a young bimbo. He might have pushed his wife into her in Glastonbury, too. But then what about Abdul and the clothes she'd found in the garbage bin?

She was even more confused when the Takaras emerged. Mr. Takara came out first, looking angry and upset, behind him was Mrs. Takara, looking even more upset, after them came the stout woman she had seen at the top, behind her came Claudine.

"This has happened again!" Mrs. Takara moaned. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "That woman, the heavy one, she lost her footing and stumbled into my husband and he fell into me and then I fell into you, and I am so sorry, so very sorry..." She covered her face with her hands, distraught.

Mr. Takara watched her, stony-faced, then he walked rapidly toward the steep short-cut to the gardens. Mrs. Takara sent a last pleading look in Laura's direction and scurried after him.

As soon as the stout woman had left and the Takaras were out of earshot, Claudine exploded. "That was bullshit!" she said succinctly. "A load of bullshit."

Laura stared at her, open-mouthed. This wasn't the Claudine she knew, or thought she knew. She didn't even sound French any more.

"I don't know who pushed who; I was too far back to see for sure, but I do know the fat woman didn't bump into anyone. That Takara woman would say anything to protect her bastard of a husband," Claudine went on vehemently. "If you ask me, he did it, and he did the same thing when you got pushed into the street in front of that car."

Laura couldn't reply. Claudine's accent was pure New York – tough New York. Who was this woman?

"Yeah," Claudine said with a sigh, seeing Laura's stare. "I grew up in Brooklyn, pretty much on the streets, and it pops out again when I'm mad. Taught myself to speak the King's English, and French and anything else that came in handy. I'm good at it, too. Should have been an actress. I can talk any which way I want."

"How did you get here, like this?"

Claudine's laugh was cynical. "Not that hard really, if you look like me. Or like I did. I was a model at first, the way aspiring actresses always are unless they wait tables." She laughed again, the same bitter sound. "It's not glamorous like people think - mostly underwear or less. It's a nasty business. Everybody gropes and not only the men."

She shrugged. "Anyway, I waited tables too, and that's how I met the good doctor. Wanted to rescue me. Kind of like that movie, My Fair Lady, where he teaches her how to behave. Except I already knew how to talk right – how to act right for that matter. Still, I was pretty naïve, for someone like me. Romantic underneath I guess. Even thought I could make him happy. I forgot the other side of that coin. That man couldn't make a... a flea happy."

For the first time she looked at Laura. "So here I am. Great clothes and all the rest. Lousy marriage. And not even any kids," she added, almost under her breath. "I did think I'd get that at least. Oh well. Not to be now."

"Oh Claudine, I am sorry. He must be very hard to take sometimes."

"Pretty much all the time. He wasn't that bad at first, though, and it's no use complaining. I found that out a long time ago." Her voice was resigned now.

"No," Laura agreed, "but I do think you have a right to let off steam. I would if I were in your shoes."

"I guess that's why I talked to you. You being American. It's a different attitude there. People are... franker, not so stiff upper lip. That's not just a term, by the way. You may not have noticed, but Englishmen really do have stiff upper lips. That's why they talk so funny. I should know – I had to practice and the only way I could sound like a nob was to keep my top lip from moving at all. Try it sometime."

She sighed. "So here I am, griping away. Sorry. Not your problem."

Laura wanted to hug her but dared not take the chance. "I don't mind listening at all," she said instead. "And I think it's about time you did some grumbling. It can't be easy being married to..." She hesitated. Did Claudine actually call her husband Ludwig?

Claudine seemed to read her thought. "Ludwig!" she exclaimed. "Can you imagine saying that at the altar? Except it wasn't an altar, just a magistrate's office, or whatever those guys are called.

"You've got no idea what it's like being married to a shrink," she went on explosively. "Every word I said got analyzed to death and thrown back at me, all twisted around. He said he was helping me find my repressed past so I could forgive... How the hell can you forgive someone you never knew?

"When that didn't work he decided I was a repressed lesbian," she went on fiercely. "Can you believe? Him, who can't keep his eyes off the little boys. The only way he gets his kicks is to eyeball them. What a joke!"

That was an interesting perspective on Dr. Bernstein, Laura thought, and filed it away for future reference. Pornography maybe? Did Violet know that, and was that why she disliked him so much?

Claudine shook her head in bemusement at Dr. Bernstein's deviant tastes, but her eyes held despair. "After that, I learned to keep my mouth shut," she added succinctly. "It's got so shut now it never opens."

"Well you can open it to me," Laura assured her with genuine sympathy. Nobody deserved night and day doses of Dr. Bernstein.

"Uh oh, speak of the devil," Claudine muttered. Laura followed her gaze and saw Dr. Bernstein hurrying toward them from the path below. Even from here she could see he looked winded, as if he had been walking fast ever since she had last seen him near the bottom of the folly.

"Claudine," she said quickly, "I would love to talk to you some more. There might not be much I can do, but I would like to hear."

"Thanks. I will, if you really mean that. I guess you get defensive when you grow up like me, so you don't trust anybody."

"I'm not the gossipy type," Laura assured her. "And I like to listen."

Claudine gave her a tight smile of thanks before she started toward her husband. It was as if those perfect lips no longer knew how to stretch far enough for a wide smile, Laura thought sadly. How badly she had misjudged this woman!

Claudine turned to face her again. "I'm... I'm kind of spooked, to tell you the truth," she admitted grudgingly. "Don't know why really, it's just that I think he's into something odd, only I don't know what... It's the same feeling I used to get when the mafia, guys like that, came around. They were all over the modeling business, the sleazy part of it anyway, and the skimpy clothes cocktail bit. I used to have a kind of sixth sense if they started taking over. Then I'd get out, and now it's like that..."

She stopped abruptly as Dr. Bernstein called to them. "Don't tell him I said anything. Don't tell anyone," Claudine pleaded, looking frightened now.

"I won't say a word," Laura promised. "Not a word to anyone."

"Watch out for him," Claudine warned suddenly, looking into Laura's face. "He's got his eye on you now. I'm not sure why, except..."

"Claudine, my dearest, where have you been?" Dr. Bernstein's voice was plaintive. "I have looked everywhere!"

"Damn!" Claudine said under her breath. Laura watched her walk away, wishing she had asked Claudine more questions while she could. She hadn't even asked for more details about what she'd seen on the tower stairs. She stiffened as another realization hit her. If Claudine was as good an actress as she had said, she could have put on that act, accent and all. But why would she do that?

Laura shook her head. She refused to be that cynical. For the moment, she would believe what she had been told. On the other hand, there was little doubt in her mind that Claudine could have been both Maisie, if Violet hadn't, and the woman who had led her on that fruitless chase through the alley – and whoever else she chose to be.

Laura glanced at her watch. Time to meet the others at the garden café. Two of them, so far, were hiding another identity. How many more would there be?

The route took her past the Gothic Cottage, a small stone building romantically set in flowering bushes. A sweet-smelling vine covered one side. Laura stopped to sniff the blossoms and to peer in the ancient, multi-paned windows. There were figures inside, standing perfectly still. Maybe they were wax figures, she mused, put there to show how the people who had inhabited the cottage might have lived years ago.

Intrigued, Laura ducked through the low doorway and took a step inside. Her eyes widened in horror and she stopped abruptly. Not wax figures; these were people, people she knew. They didn't look normal now. Amy was slumped lifelessly against a low stone bench, her eyes wide open and her pretty face set in an expression of bewildered surprise. A thin trickle of blood stained her pale forehead. Margaret stood frozen-faced beside her, staring fixedly down at an object in her hand. Lady Longtree stood next to Margaret, her umbrella raised high to strike.

***********************

For a terrible moment Laura thought Lady Longtree had gone mad, that she had hit Amy over the head with her umbrella and was about to hit Margaret. Then she saw the object in Margaret's hand that so fascinated her. It was a gun.

"I sent William for help," Lady Longtree said in a low voice. "Best not to do anything else for the moment I think. Margaret is in shock. There's no telling what she might do if she gets frightened."

Laura nodded. She swallowed hard, trying to absorb the horror. The small sound of her throat moving was loud in her ears.

Moving slowly, she took the few steps back to the door and stood guard so no one else could enter. It was all she could think of to do.

Silence fell. It seemed to Laura to last forever, and then she heard voices outside. Tourists, only tourists. They stood admiring the cottage and sniffing the fragrant vine, chattering eagerly before they moved away. How incongruous, she thought – this tragedy inside and inconsequential chatter outside.

Different voices came next, official sounding voices. A young policewoman appeared in the doorway. Laura moved aside to let her pass.

The young woman stood still for a moment, taking in the scene; then she walked slowly over to Margaret.

"I'll take it now," she said soothingly, holding out a gloved hand. "It's all right. I'll take it." Laura noticed that her other hand rested on the stout club at her belt.

Margaret's eyes didn't move but she slowly extended the gun toward the policewoman. No one breathed until the small act was completed.

"Thank you, dear," the young woman said gently, handing the gun on to another officer who had followed her in. "Now I think we'll leave here and see if we can find somewhere comfortable for you to rest for a bit."

Margaret suddenly raised her head to look at the policewoman. "She had it," she said pathetically. "Amy had the gun in her hand. Why did she have it?"

The policewoman was startled but hid it quickly. "We don't know, dear. We don't know. But we'll find out," she said placidly. "I'll take you outside, shall I?"

"But I told her everything would be all right now," Margaret protested. "She was happy again."

"Yes, dear, I'm sure she was," the young woman agreed smoothly. Her eyes met the eyes of the other officer, who nodded quickly and pulled out a notebook.

Talking quietly about a rest and maybe a nice cup of tea, the policewoman led an unresisting Margaret out the low door. Laura saw that Margaret's eyes were fixed on her hand again, as if she didn't realize that it was empty now.

Suddenly the small room was full of police. Alan came in, Violet too. She looked pale but composed. William came in behind them. He looked terrible, as if he were about to be sick, and Laura saw Violet go to him and take him outside.

Lady Longtree sat down abruptly on a narrow stone ledge. Laura went to her. "Let's go outside for some air," she suggested quietly.

The old lady looked up. "Yes, thank you my dear. Just give me a moment. Rather a shock, all this. I must find William, too."

"Violet is with him," Laura reassured her. "They are just outside." Lady Longtree nodded and closed her eyes for a long moment, her hands still firmly clasped around her umbrella. Then she rose, took Laura's proffered arm, and they slowly left the cottage. No one seemed to notice except Alan, who sent Laura a grateful glance.

Violet and William were seated on a bench, and Lady Longtree and Laura joined them. William looked marginally better, or at least less ill, Laura thought, and struggled to contain a torrent of useless tears. If only she had tried harder to talk to Amy, even insisted that they meet. Maybe then Amy would still be alive.

The tears came harder. She must not let them. Not now, she told herself. Later, there will be a time.

At least she was happy again, she thought, remembering Amy's face as she talked about the baby wallabies. A pang of grief so sharp she gasped shot through her, and Laura forced that thought away too.

Alan's voice came from the cottage. "Violet, could you join us for just a moment?" Violet stood up and went inside.

Time passed, Laura had no idea how much of it. An ambulance arrived, using a rutted service road behind the cottage, and two men rolled out a stretcher. They stood beside it, talking in low voices while they waited. One of them lit a cigarette. The acrid smell drifted unpleasantly into Laura's nostrils.

Beside her, William flinched. At the smoke or at what he'd seen in the cottage? Laura put her hand on his knee, wishing she knew how to comfort him.

The gesture seemed to help. William glanced up at her and tried to smile. "Hate the stuff," he explained. And then: "Hate guns worse." His lips tightened again, and his head dropped into his hands. Laura massaged the knee gently.

Finally Violet returned. "Time to get tea, maybe something to eat," she said gruffly. "Sounds heartless I know, but it's no use not going on." Laura nodded and rose, glad of Violet's calming presence. Lady Longtree and William followed. His arm was around his grandmother's shoulder, Laura saw, and tears threatened again. They were very close, those two.

Violet got them tea and some sandwiches that no one ate, arranged to put them in a small private room and told them the bus would take them back to the Manor house after the police had finished their questioning. A new driver had been hired, she said, and then vanished again without further explanation. Laura was aware that Violet was very much in charge. She must have been involved in investigations like this many times before. It was hard to imagine.

Her attention was diverted as the rest of the tour group was ushered into the little room. They all looked shocked and frightened.

An elderly policeman came through the door. "I fear there has been an accident to one of the members of your group," he told them soberly, and went on to say, briefly, that Amy had been found dead in the cottage. Laura tried to read their faces as they reacted to the news. To one of them perhaps, it was not news.

Mrs. Takara, perhaps predictably, insisted she had known something like this was going to happen. "That poor girl," she moaned. "If only I had known she was so very unhappy perhaps I could have stopped her from doing this terrible thing."

Even more predictably, Mr. Takara treated her to a scathing look. "My wife is easily overwhelmed," he apologized to the policemen. "She does not always understand."

"But I do," Mrs. Takara responded with unexpected spirit. "About cameras, you know. About people, I know."

The policeman listened politely to both of them; then he turned to face Mrs. Takara, subtly turning his back on her husband. He learned fast, Laura thought.

"What makes you think she was responsible?" he asked pleasantly. "Did she give you any indication that she was unhappy?"

"I am certain she was," Mrs. Takara answered, with a nervous glance at her husband. "I have girls of my own and I know about these things."

"Thank you, Mrs. Takara," the policeman responded. "Now, if you will be so good, I would like to speak to each of you in turn. The manager here has kindly offered to lend us his office for that purpose.

"Lady Longtree, perhaps you would come first? In that way, you will be able to return earlier to the Manor. I am sure you would like to rest.

"William will be next," he added, "so you can leave together."

"Thank you for your consideration," Lady Longtree said formally, and rose to her feet, leaning heavily on her umbrella. Despite her obvious sadness, there was a set to her jaw that told Laura she intended to get answers as well as to give them. William, on the other hand, looked ghastly. His head was still buried in his hands, and he hardly looked up even when he was called into the office.

Mrs. Takara was called as soon as William came out. She protested that her husband should come with her, since he was better at answering questions, but the policeman just smiled and guided her into the interview room, leaving a glowering Mr. Takara to fidget irritably. Laura noticed that the bus driver took Mrs. Takara back to the hotel immediately, without waiting for her husband.

The next hour passed in a blur of whispered conversations and somber faces among the tour members, the policeman escorting them one at a time to the office and everyone returning looking even more sober than before. Laura wished they would do her next so she could get it over with, but they either weren't anxious to question her or they wanted to make her more nervous than she already was.

Her mind moved off on another tangent. Had Margaret really shot her friend? If she had, that was an odd comment to make to the policewoman. It had been so ingenious, so uncontrived that it was hard not to believe that the gun really had been in Amy's hand and that Margaret had taken it from her. Did that mean Amy had shot herself?

Laura shook her head. Impossible. Amy wouldn't do that. She probably didn't know one end of a gun from the other and she hadn't a shred of violence in her, against herself or anyone else. Besides, she really had been happy again, as Margaret had said. But if neither Amy nor Margaret had done it, who had?

Almost anyone, she thought despairingly - except for Claudine. She at least knew Claudine had not. Laura was obscurely glad. Dr. Bernstein could have done it, though, or any of the others who had been at Stourhead. Mr. Takara could have done it too. Was that why he had been in such a hurry to get back to the gardens? The list of suspects wasn't confined to tour members, either. Any member of the criminal organization could have done it \- except Abdul, who was presumably in custody.

She was the last to be called. All the others had returned to the hotel, ferried there one at a time or in pairs by the new bus driver. After each trip, he returned to the small office to wait for the next person. Laura wondered if he was really a policeman. Perhaps he had been told to listen to any private conversations among them while they waited.

The interview was exhausting, especially after her already eventful day. The police were polite but wanted to know about everything that had happened to her, what she had discovered, more about her reasons for being on the tour and even what she thought of the other participants.

Dutifully, she related her story again and included her perceptions of each person on the tour. They listened patiently, inserting a question now and again, especially about her aborted conversation with Amy and her perceptions of Amy's mental state.

Laura repeated the conversation she had overheard between Amy and Margaret about the babies. "There's no doubt that had been bothering Amy," she finished, "but she really did seem happy again in the last few days. I can't believe she shot herself, or, for that matter, that Margaret shot her. It's all wrong somehow."

And it was, she realized. Exactly what was wrong, she wasn't sure except that it was too... too pat, was the only word she could think of.

"It's too contrived," she said suddenly.

"Ah," the policeman said, nodding as if he understood, and went on to ask her to tell them everything she could think of about where everyone in the tour group was from the time they reached the base of King Alfred's tower until Laura had arrived at the cottage and seen the tragedy.

"Claudine was with me," Laura answered. "She and I and Violet and the Takaras climbed the tower; the others were in the gardens as far as I know. Violet came down before me; I don't think Dr. Bernstein ever attempted the climb. I don't know what he did instead. Claudine and I saw him below us as we were walking back from the tower. He seemed out of breath, as if he had been running, but he is not in very good shape.

"The Takaras came down behind me from the tower and then took a shortcut to the gardens. Mr. Takara seemed in a hurry, either to get away from us or to get back to the gardens. I think he could have got there in time to shoot Amy but of course I can't be sure. Claudine came down behind the Takaras. We talked together for a while, and then she saw her husband and went to join him."

"You have spoken to Mrs. Bernstein privately, then," the policeman asked pleasantly. Laura hesitated, not wanting to break her promise to Claudine.

The policeman cleared his throat. "I assure you, Mrs. Morland, that you will not be telling any secrets," he said confidentially. "We are aware of the full background of everyone on the tour. Please keep in mind that these are very serious circumstances, and it is not the time to withhold information."

Laura nodded and gave them a brief account of her conversation with Claudine, beginning with her skeptical remarks about Mrs. Takara's confession and her opinion that Mr. Takara was responsible instead for both near-accidents. Reluctantly, she included Claudine's suspicions of some kind of mafia involvement and her fears for her husband in this regard. She also included the remark about Dr. Bernstein's liking for boys. After all, this case involved children so it could be important.

By the time Laura left she was ready to drop with exhaustion and the strain of keeping her shock and grief under tight control. She wondered where Violet was, and wished she could talk to her, but that was obviously even less possible now.

The new bus driver wasn't in the waiting room. Wearily, Laura went outside to look for him, but he wasn't in sight. The bus was standing nearby, though, so she went up to it. Maybe he was inside, waiting for her.

A man was suddenly behind her, pressing her forcefully into the bus. "You can get in now," he said unpleasantly. "I will drive you."

Laura whirled and saw Abdul.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Laura opened her eyes to total darkness. She blinked, trying to make her vision work. Then she realized that night must have come. There was nothing wrong with her eyes, only her head, which hurt abominably.

She closed her eyes again, wanting only to rest. Her nose wouldn't let her. It told her that if it was night she was in the wrong place. This place smelled dank and musty, and it was cold. Definitely not the hotel.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again. Nothing was visible; she couldn't even see her hand. That was wrong too. There were street lights outside the hotel that let in some light. Where was she then?

Laura shivered. Somewhere chilly and damp and utterly dark. The floor felt cold under her fingers, and the stone wall behind her was clammy. But why was she sleeping propped up against a stone wall?

Snippets of memory slowly returned. She had turned, seen Abdul behind her, but after that she remembered nothing. He must have hit her and dumped her on the bus, and brought her here. But where was here?

Images from old horror movies and lurid novels poured into her mind, of ancient stone crypts and filthy pits in the ground where people were buried alive, fed only if their captor bothered to remember.

Laura hugged her arms around her chest and shuddered convulsively, trying to ward off panic. This place felt like a hole or a crypt, with that unmistakable dank scent of wet earth and stone.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she worked up enough courage to stretch her arms out in all directions. If she was in a pit in the ground she wouldn't be able to stretch them very far. She had to try, had to know at least.

Her hands felt only emptiness, and the relief brought tears to Laura's eyes. She must be in a bigger space. An old cellar perhaps? It smelled like that.

Opening her eyes, she stared into the blackness, hoping her vision would adjust. It did, a little. She made out a large lump not far away. It was just a bit lighter than the floor, which her fingers told her wasn't a floor but packed earth.

The lump started to squirm in her direction. She could hear it slithering across the ground. Laura scrabbled away in terror.

"Steady," a masculine voice said. "It's just me."

"Me?" Laura's voice was a squeak.

"Richard. It's Richard."

"Richard?" she breathed. How had he got here?

"Of course, you never saw me! Sorry. I forgot. Someone dealt me a fearful whack and I fear my brain isn't working too well at the moment."

"But what are you doing here? And where are we?"

Richard crept closer, gave a muted yelp and abruptly stopped moving. His voice sounded weak and strained when he answered.

"I came to Stourhead as promised to tell you what I'd found out, but realized something was wrong when I saw police cars and tour members filing into an office looking upset. So I asked some questions, found out what had happened to Amy and Margaret, and decided to wait outside until the police had finished interviewing you."

He stopped to catch his breath, which sounded wheezy. "I think your bus driver, if that's who he was, gave me a kick in the ribs as well as a knock on the head. At any rate, I saw the man I thought was your bus driver and explained that I was looking for you. He said, very politely as I recall, that I should get on the bus, that he was waiting to drive you to your hotel and you would join us in a moment. I had no reason to disbelieve him so I did. After that I don't remember a great deal except that he tossed you on the seat beside me, which temporarily woke me. Then I must have passed out again.

"I haven't a clue as to where we are, though," he added. "More to the point, how are we to get out of wherever we are?"

"Yes, that is the point," Laura agreed, cheered by his presence if not his condition. He sounded awful, but at least she wasn't in this ghastly place alone.

"I think I can stand or at least crawl," she offered. "Maybe I could feel around for a door or a window, or a weapon in case Abdul comes back."

"I gather that Abdul is the bus driver and that he has joined the list of possible suspects," Richard commented dryly.

"Yes. Abdul is one of the men who have been following me," Laura explained, "but like an idiot I never really looked at him while he was driving the bus, so I didn't know that until yesterday. He may be the person who pushed me into the street in Glastonbury – he has hair that matches what we found on the wig - and the person who tried to drop the rock on my head. That happened in the Abbey ruins, just after I left you. I thought he'd been taken into custody but I guess he wasn't, since he's abducted us."

"Both conclusions seem logical," Richard agreed in the same wry tone.

"A lot has happened since we last talked," Laura went on thoughtfully, struggling to remember what it all was.

"So I gather." Improbably, Richard sounded as if he were laughing now. Better that than weeping, Laura decided. She was really glad he was here.

"You better tell me about it," he reminded her when she said nothing further. "I think we're both a bit fuzzy, but I do need to know."

Laura made a vast effort to collect her scattered thoughts, and managed to provide a rambling but reasonably coherent summary of everything that had happened since she had seen him last. She finished with her near-fall down the tower steps and her suspicion that Mr. Takara had done it, possibly the push into the street as well.

Recalling her promise, she said nothing about Violet's identity or her confirmation of an international baby-stealing ring. That thought made her remember that Violet had also asked her not to discuss the case with anyone for the time being. Guilt surfaced immediately. Would she ever learn to keep her mouth shut? Still, it was hard to believe that Richard was involved. If he was part of the plot, why was he lying here with a sore head like hers?

Richard's voice brought her back to the present. "You certainly lead an adventurous life," he commented.

"I actually thought I enjoyed it that way, too, before all this happened," Laura replied glumly. "It doesn't seem like much fun now, not after Amy."

Grief abruptly overcame her. "Why Amy?" she wailed. "She seemed so utterly innocent, so unlikely to get killed, and she has two little girls...It's just all wrong and it doesn't make any sense..." To her horror, she felt tears slide down her face. Richard touched her shoulder. He didn't say anything, just stroked her gently.

Hiccupping, Laura struggled to regain control. Pulling a crumpled Kleenex out of her pocket, she wiped her eyes. The gesture brought her up short.

"My hands aren't tied!" she exclaimed.

"Excellent," Richard replied imperturbably. "In that case, perhaps you could untie mine. They are damned uncomfortable."

"I'll try." Laura crawled closer and reached out to grasp the first part of him she encountered, which turned out to be an ear. "Sorry," she apologized. "I'll work my way down." Her exploring fingers found first what felt like a cheek, then a chin and a neck and finally some clothing.

"Are your hands tied in front or in back?" she asked.

Richard couldn't answer. He was squirming and gasping for breath. Appalled, Laura pulled her hands away and tried to remember how to do artificial respiration or some other kind of revival technique.

The gasping slowly eased. "Sorry," Richard apologized. "I'm ticklish. A light touch always sets me off."

"You were laughing!" Laura protested indignantly. "And I thought you might be having a heart attack."

"I might, too, if you kept that up. At any rate, my hands are behind me. Damned inconvenient at the moment as well as uncomfortable. If I had the use of them I..."

"Well, never mind that now. You'll be able to tell from the jacket I have on whether you are in the front or the back. Pockets and a zipper in the front."

"All right," Laura agreed. "I'll try not to touch anything sensitive."

"Oh, I don't know that I'd go that far."

Laura ignored this innuendo and worked her way slowly down his jacket, which fortunately was thick, and then around to the back. There she found his hands, bound tightly together. They felt cold to the touch, and she suspected he wasn't getting much circulation. She massaged them vigorously.

"There are compensations to this business of being rescued," Richard joked. "I do love a good massage. Anywhere."

"Do be serious," Laura objected. "I'll be laughing myself soon, and then where will we be?"

"Feeling more cheerful than before?" Richard suggested.

Against her will, Laura did laugh. "You are in remarkably good spirits considering our circumstances," she commented.

Richard sighed. "I shall be even cheerier when you've finished tormenting my wrists," he said lightly as Laura pulled and pried at the tough strands. It was surprisingly hard to untie knots with just her fingers to guide her, and she got dizzy every time she put her head down too far.

"Look on the bright side," she quipped. "You still have feeling in your hands."

"Indeed I do," he agreed with a sigh of pleasure. She heard him chuckle, and she smiled to herself. Richard was the right sort of companion to have in a difficult situation. As Thomas had been, she mused, remembering last summer's adventures. Despite a dislocated shoulder he too had managed to joke in a tight spot. Was it coincidence that she had recently come across two men of that type, or did she attract them? Or did they attract her, and if so, what did that say about her choice of an ultra-conservative man like Donald as her now ex-husband?

Laura set this uncomfortable question aside. "What persuaded you to move from London to Glastonbury?" she asked.

"I was fed up with the pressures of my job and small town life sounded peaceful," Richard answered ruefully. "Unfortunately, it is also quite bland. That's why I have enjoyed working on the mysteries surrounding your tour so much. I like the challenge.

"Which reminds me that I came here to give you information about the tour members," he added. "First, my contacts in London tell me, in strict confidence, that an international group set up to steal babies for wealthy clients really does exist, though they don't know who's running the organization or when it began."

Laura nodded. "I had the same information. It's good to know but hardly reassuring, since I assume those are the people holding us captive."

"You're right about that, so I'd best get my hands free before they come back," Richard agreed, and wriggled his fingers hard in an effort to loosen the ropes.

"Tell me about the tour members," Laura reminded him, redoubling her effort to untie the ropes.

"Margaret and Amy are nurses, as they say," Richard began. "Amy seemed happily married; Margaret, as you suspected, has a less pleasant history. She's had an abusive husband and an abusive boyfriend. Dr. Bernstein is a child psychiatrist but there isn't much more about him, which suggests he stays out of the public eye, possibly because he has something to hide. Claudine's come up in the world - she was a waitress and dancer before she married him."

"If Ludwig qualifies as a step up," Laura remarked.

Richard laughed. "He may not. But on with the list: Mr. Takara is a business man involved in a lot of complicated deals, not all of them above board but also not illegal. However, he's the most likely of the tour members to run an international criminal group, which would give him an excellent reason for wanting you out of the way. I haven't got much on Mrs. Takara since she's been a housewife and they don't leave records. Hans is more interesting. He's the head of a children's relief agency in Switzerland. I find it suggestive that his job is international and involves children. Even people with lofty credentials and idealistic views can be corrupted."

"True," Laura agreed, recalling the gloating look on Hans's face when he left Lady Longtree's room. "He's gone back to Switzerland," she added. "No one seems to know why."

"I'll try to find out," Richard promised. "The most intriguing fact I've uncovered so far," he went on, "is that Alan Mansfield has never run a tour group before, though he has been involved with the travel industry from time to time. This tour is a new venture and it is surprisingly well financed. I'm not yet sure by whom. Alan seems a bit of a mystery, or perhaps I should say there are mysterious gaps in his life when I can't find records of what he has done."

"That is a surprise." Laura sat back on her heels to give her fingers and Richard's wrists a rest. "He seems so practiced at the job. He also helped Violet and the police when Amy was found.

"Is he married by any chance?" she asked curiously.

"I don't know but I can probably find out. Why do you ask?"

"Because of the lady with the long red hair," Laura admitted. "I got the feeling they knew each other well and could be in this together. That could be why she carried two babies into his room in the middle of the night, and why there are inexplicable gaps in his history."

"Perhaps," Richard agreed, "but I wouldn't jump to any conclusions on the basis of the information we have so far. He may yet be a good guy."

"Or a mole – an insider in the police force or the tour who is a member of this gang," Laura countered. "If I ever get out of here, I'll watch him more carefully."

"I have a fair amount on Lady Longtree and William, too," Richard continued. "They are who they say they are, more or less. Lady Longtree lives in Yorkshire and does a lot of gardening and charity work. She is well liked but is known as an eccentric who does as she pleases and has a particular fondness for unusual hats."

Laura laughed. "Both are certainly true."

"As for William," Richard went on, "I realized why he was familiar the next day, though you may already have discovered that for yourself."

"Yes. I heard him playing a piano concerto one afternoon. I gather that he and his grandmother have personal reasons for involving themselves in this investigation despite the dangers, and I can't help thinking that if I knew exactly what those reasons were, I might also know a lot more about what is going on in the tour."

"You could be right," Richard agreed. "The solution to that conundrum might unlock the clues we need to solve the rest.

"I should mention, too, that William's mother, Lady Longtree's daughter, is a highly respected barrister who is known for her skill at cross-examination."

"I know where she gets that talent," Laura said wryly. "Lady Longtree is incredible, even without the benefit of legal training."

"There was a daughter, too, William's sister, that is," Richard said, "but there's some doubt about where she is now or even if she's still alive. She married young, it seems, against the family wishes, and went to live abroad, in Saudi Arabia, I think. One account has her dying out there in childbirth; another says the child died too. No one seems to know for sure."

Laura sighed, and got back to work on the knots. "It's a sad story either way. Life hasn't been easy for them, I imagine. Yet they're always so cheerful and thoughtful."

"William's mother has prosecuted quite a few cases involving child abuse," Richard went on doggedly, "which could, I suppose, be a vague connection. It involves children, at least."

"I admire her for doing it, but it's hard to make much of the connection if there is one," Laura said dubiously. "Nothing seems to be tied to anything else, and I must say it is extremely frustrating."

"Except for those damned knots, which seem devilishly well tied," Richard retorted. "Are you getting anywhere?"

"I think so but I'm not sure." Laura wriggled her stiff fingers. "If only I could see!

"Flashlight!" she blurted suddenly. "There's a torch in my pack. Maybe Abdul dumped it in here with me. I'll crawl around and see if I can find it."

Raising herself with a grunt to her knees, she waited until her head cleared and the dizziness passed, then she began to creep across the earthen floor, searching the uneven surface in a circular motion with her hands. Her groping fingers found a lump, one that was far too large for her pack. She poked at it, trying to make out what it was. Unexpectedly, the lump swore.

"Bloody hell!" The voice was barely audible.

Laura froze. "Who are you?" she asked cautiously.

"Never mind me. Who are you?" a man's voice challenged.

Laura had a sudden thought. "Are you the new bus driver?" she asked.

"Not talking," the man rejoined. He sounded barely conscious.

"It's all right," Laura told him sympathetically. "Richard, a friend of mine, and I got knocked on the head and dumped here, too. I'm Laura Morland, one of the tour members. And a friend of Violet's," she added for good measure.

She heard an exhaled breath. "Right," the voice wheezed. "Another person next to me. Dead I think. Pen flashlight, right jacket pocket. Get it and see."

Laura stomach clenched painfully. Surely it couldn't be another of the tour members? With shaking fingers, she felt along the man's clothes until she came to the right pocket. Pulling out what felt like a pen, she pushed experimentally at one end. A slender beam illuminated the man, who was indeed the new bus driver. Beside him lay a shapeless bundle dressed in a long, bedraggled skirt and a gaudy shawl. Her weather-beaten face looked peaceful, as if she were merely asleep, but even before she felt for a pulse, Laura knew she was dead.

Richard slithered up beside her. "Peg," he said grimly. "It's poor old Peg – she's the Glastonbury bag lady," he added for the bus driver's benefit.

"Bastards," the bus driver muttered. "They'd no right to go after an old lady."

"A sick old lady, too," Richard agreed soberly. "Peg got out of hospital yesterday, though she was due back for more tests in a week. Some of the local people treated her to a few drinks, and she hasn't been seen since. My guess is that someone saw whoever impersonated Peg that night and didn't know she was an imposter – which means the killer wasn't a local. They would have known Peg was in hospital."

Laura tried to quell her uneasiness as she gazed at the lifeless body. "I guess the killer thought the bag lady saw something incriminating in the alley, the clothes or the wig," she said, and shuddered as the implications registered.

"Which doesn't bode well for our future," Richard observed, echoing her fears.

Suddenly and shockingly, a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling went on. Laura had time only to note that they were in a cellar devoid of any object that could be used in self-defense, when a door opened at the top of some rickety stairs. She saw a hand come through the doorway, a man's hand covered with dark hair.

She waited, frozen in suspense.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Someone called out angrily and the hand retreated to the accompaniment of arguing voices. Laura took advantage of the delay to finish untying Richard. She had made surprising progress even in the dark, and now that she could see the task took only a moment. Richard rubbed his wrists, wincing, and she saw that he had a long gash on one side of his head. He was very pale.

The voices drifted away. Laura went to the bus driver and freed him too. He looked worse than Richard. One eye was purple and almost closed, there were abrasions on his cheeks, and his left wrist was swollen and discolored. He must have put up quite a fight. Laura hoped he had inflicted his share of injuries. The thought of Abdul with a similarly swollen face and a black eye was immensely satisfying.

A hissing sound from Richard made her turn. "Window," he whispered, pointing. "Get out that way. You'll fit. We won't."

Laura regarded the small aperture dubiously. It was about six feet up on the wall in a deeply recessed space that looked no more than two feet high and three feet long. It seemed too small for anybody to get through. Still, if she could get up there, she could try. The problem was that there was nothing to stand on so she could reach it.

The voices came closer again and they all froze. Three people, Laura thought, one of them a woman. One of the men sounded like Abdul. Had that been his hand? They were speaking a language she couldn't understand. The woman seemed to be in charge, at least it sounded as if she were giving orders to her companions and criticizing someone harshly. Abdul?

Another door closed with a slam and heavy footsteps passed the cellar entrance. Someone else must have arrived. They heard a murmured consultation and then a different voice, loud and deep, carried down to them.

"Bloody hell, you can't keep them down there! What kind of fool are you? We've got to get rid of them." The man sounded pugnacious, and ruthless.

He paced back and forth over Laura's head, muttering to himself. "Damnation! I never thought the stupid cow would crack like that. And why the devil couldn't you do the job right in the first place? What a bloody mess!"

The newcomer stopped pacing and thumped toward the cellar door. Laura braced herself. Why hadn't she taken one of those courses on Karate or self-defense at least? And who was the stupid cow who had cracked?

The woman began to argue with him, also in English, and the footsteps stopped. Her tones were icy and commanding, as if she were accustomed to being obeyed. Laura was too far away to hear clearly, but she caught the words timing, and delay and next one. The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but the perfectly modulated, precise accent was not. Could she be Claudine? She had said she could talk any way she wanted. Everything else she'd said in that confessional outburst could be pure fabrication.

Laura made a mental note to find out where Claudine had been at this hour, and glanced at her watch. Only ten o'clock, she discovered with surprise. It felt like the middle of the night. She realized suddenly that she hadn't had lunch or dinner and that she was ravenous. How horrible of her! How could she think about eating with a dead woman in the room?

Richard hissed at her and Laura forced her mind back to the business at hand. The bus driver had positioned himself on all fours under the window, favoring his left wrist. Richard climbed carefully onto his back and assumed the same position.

They were making a platform for her, Laura saw with astonishment. How clever of them! Apologizing mentally for inflicting further pain and for any extra pounds she might have added in this country of buttery scones, she climbed gingerly aboard. The two men wobbled precariously but the platform held. With great care and more balancing skill than she'd known she possessed, Laura slowly extended her body up, leaning against the cold wall for support.

When her shoulders came level with the window, she saw that it had a wide inner sill and that it opened into a roughly built window-well about two feet below the ground. If she could just maneuver herself onto the sill, she could work at opening the window. The trouble was that one pane of the window slid over the other, which would cut the open space in half. She would have to be a contortionist to go through that! Still, she had no choice but to try.

Slowly, Laura pulled herself higher; then she propelled her body onto the sill with a lurch, using her elbows for leverage. She swayed and almost fell back, but Richard's hands pushed hard against her backside, shoving her forcefully into the narrow aperture that enclosed the window.

Laura gasped. There wasn't room for her up here. Her back was squashed hard against the cement top of the window opening, her neck was bent under it at an awkward angle that made it almost impossible to breathe and her knees were shoved against her chest. The pressure on her spine was agonizing.

With frantic strength, she forced a hand out from beneath her cramped body and grabbed at the handle of the window so she could get her head out at least.

The window was stuck fast. Wriggling desperately, she managed to haul out her other hand so she could attack it from a different angle. With a suddenness that propelled her backward onto Richard, it opened. Laura grabbed at the jagged rocks enclosing the window well. They bit into her palm, scraping it raw, but she managed to steady herself and take her weight off Richard. And at least her head was out.

Gritting her teeth and ignoring the ripping sounds from her jacket, Laura twisted and shoved until one shoulder was outside. Then she wriggled the other shoulder into the narrow opening. It stuck there. Now she couldn't move at all.

Claustrophobia struck hard. In desperation, Laura forced her body to twist the other way. She succeeded only in sending a stab of almost intolerable pain through her spine that left her terrified to try again.

The voices returned, followed by footsteps. The sounds galvanized Laura. She couldn't abandon the two men to the mercy of that icily commanding woman and the pugnacious man. And she could not, would not, let them find her stuck in a window with her backside protruding into the room, inviting torment.

Don't think about that. Think about squeezing through easily, Laura instructed herself. All you have to do is push out all your breath and make yourself smaller. Wasn't that was magicians did to escape?

Laura pushed all the air out of her lungs. Her chest really did get smaller, she thought. Encouraged, she emptied her lungs again and at the same time shoved her upper body forward as hard as she could until the second shoulder squeezed through. Her hips were next. The window frame dug so far into them as she twisted them out that she was sure its outline would be engraved in bruises for weeks. They had stared to throb already. Ignoring the pain, she dragged the rest of her body into the window well outside.

Shakily, Laura hauled herself to her feet, controlled an urge to throw up and an equally strong one to faint, and heaved a deep sigh of relief instead. Below her she heard a muted cheer, a shuffle and exhalations of even greater relief as Richard and the bus driver relinquished their uncomfortable positions. She also heard footsteps again, more than one person. The whole group must be heading for the cellar.

Up, she told herself, up and out of here, fast. Propping her elbows on the ground above her, she scrabbled up the wall, threw herself onto the hard earth and crawled away from the window.

As soon as she left the glow cast by the light bulb, the darkness was absolute. Were there no streetlights in this place? Crouching behind what felt like an upright stone, Laura stayed still long enough to let her eyes adjust and her dizziness and nausea to subside. She saw a faint light coming from her right and crept toward it. Immediately, she fell over another stone. The thump sounded loud after the silence in the cellar.

She waited, muscles tense, but nothing happened. She crawled on, taking shelter behind upright stones. There were a lot of them. She tried to think what that meant.

A cemetery! That was it. Hadn't the escaped convict in that novel by Dickens been hiding in a graveyard? He had grabbed the boy from behind a tombstone...

A shadowy form materialized out of the darkness near her, and Laura's heart seemed to stop. The form paused, and she made out a dog raising its leg on one of the stones. A man called to it. Gradually, her heart rate slowed, but dog and man disappeared into the darkness before she could gather her wits and ask him for help. Better to find Violet anyway, Laura consoled herself, or at least a policeman. No one else was likely to believe her.

She crept on toward the light and came out into a narrow lane with a single street lamp at the other end. Leaning against it was a bicycle. The owner was nowhere in sight. Laura eyed it nervously. It wasn't locked to the lamp post, but would she be able to ride the thing? Even when she was young, she hadn't been much good at it. In her present state, keeping her balance seemed downright impossible.

A commotion further down the lane caught her attention. Two men had burst out of the doorway of an old church. Abdul was one of them. Talking volubly in a strange language, they pointed at her and began to run. In moments they would be upon her. The bicycle was her only hope.

Yanking it from its perch, she swung her leg up, but it was too short to get over the high bar. A man's bicycle, she realized in dismay.

The men were closing in. Laura leaned the bicycle down, swung her leg as high as she could and leaped for the narrow seat. It thudded into her most tender areas with an intolerable thump, and for a moment she was afraid she would vomit or pass out. The sensations eased and she was off, weaving wildly down the little street.

If you can just stay on this thing you can get away. Laura repeated the words like a mantra as she sped away from the footsteps pounding behind her.

Reaching an unexpected corner, she veered right into an unevenly surfaced road that turned out to be cobblestones. The bicycle wobbled precariously in the lumpy surface, and she swayed dizzily from one side to another. Managing to regain her balance, she pedaled furiously to the next corner and careened into a larger, better-lit street. There might be other people there, people who would help her.

There were. A pub was just closing and the street swarmed with men, who watched her unsteady progress in astonishment. Laura felt another wave of dizziness coming on, and the bicycle swerved even more wildly. The men stared. She was about to call out to them for help when she heard a shout from further down the lane.

"My bicycle! That dame's stolen my bicycle. Grab her!"

The men looked back at the speaker, appeared to recognize him and sprinted into action. Laura glanced quickly behind her. At least fifteen men were charging toward her from the pub. She pedaled faster, swung desperately around a corner in an effort to lose them and side-swiped a stone wall. Bouncing off it, she changed direction, careened over a curbstone and onto a sidewalk. Laura steered down it with wild abandon and hoped no more dog walkers were out tonight. They were. An elderly lady with two poodles on leashes was heading straight at her, all unsuspecting. The dogs knew she was coming though, and began to bark shrilly.

Laura crashed down over the curbstone again and put a frantic hand to her head in a vain attempt to control its painful thumping. The bicycle swayed dangerously.

A young policeman came out of nowhere and grabbed her handlebars. "Here now, Miss, we can't have that sort of riding, not while other people are about. Nor any other time for that matter. You know the rules. No bicycles on the sidewalk."

"Thank heaven!" Laura said fervently. "Please. I need help. You've got to help me. I've been kidnapped and locked up in a cellar..."

"Don't you believe that crap," another voice yelled. "That's my bicycle she's riding. She took it right off the lamp post. A thief, that's what she is. A bloody thief."

"Evening, Bobby," the policeman rejoined. "Had a drink or two, I see." He chuckled and examined the bicycle with a judicious eye. "Still, this looks like your bicycle, doesn't it? Well, that's a pretty kettle of fish, ladies stealing bicycles. You'd better come with me, M'am. Serious matter, trying to steal a bicycle."

"I didn't steal it," Laura protested. "I only borrowed it so I could get away, find help. Really, I've been held captive for hours in the cellar of that old building over there, I think it's a church, and the people who captured me are right behind us, and there are two men still in the cellar, and a dead woman, too..."

Her voice dwindled into silence as the policeman, the bicycle owner and a variety of fascinated onlookers stared at her in stark disbelief.

"She's plumb crazy," one of the men ventured. "You'd better take her in quick, John, before she gets violent."

Laura tried again. "I'm an American with a tour group," she said firmly. "I want to talk to the man who runs the tour. There was a murder yesterday..."

The bicycle owner rolled his eyes and shook his head in mock dismay for the benefit of his onlookers. "Well, boys, you know how it is. There's all types on the far side of the pond." His fellow drinkers guffawed and competed to produce still more witticisms about Americans and American women in particular.

The policeman took charge again. "All right, boys, head on home now. Fun's over for tonight. Come along now, Madam," he said to Laura, taking her elbow firmly. "Best to cool off for a time, and then we'll see."

"But it's true," Laura insisted. "My name is..." A wave of dizziness so strong she almost fell came over her, and she felt her knees buckle. Suddenly she couldn't think who she was, couldn't think of anything except Violet. That was it. If she could get Violet everything would be all right...

"Violet!" she said explosively. "Get me Violet. She's in charge of the case."

The dizziness came again and she felt herself disappearing. She put out a hand to steady herself. It landed on the handlebar of the bicycle.

"Wants to grab it again once your back is turned, that's what she's up to," the bicycle's owner growled. "Proper actress, that one. Belongs in a cell, she does. I'm leaving, but I'm gonna raise a fuss if you don't book her."

Laura squinted, trying to see his face, but her eyes wouldn't focus any more. All she could see was a vague blur of bodies all around her. They were all talking at once, and the lady with the two poodles had come to see what was happening, and the dogs were yapping and yapping...

The noises faded, but now she was cold all over and her legs no longer seemed able to hold her. Nausea rose in her throat. Laura took a deep breath, trying to quell it, but she knew it was no use. She had better warn them.

"Please excuse me, gentlemen," she said politely as the ground rose up to meet her, "but I really did get hit over the head and now I am afraid I am going to faint. And when I faint I always..."

She couldn't get the last words out. Suddenly and dramatically, her throat gave a violent heave and she crumpled to the ground, leaving an even more startled group of onlookers staring down at the morning's breakfast spreading across the policeman's large and well-polished boots.

********************

Laura struggled to regain consciousness, gave up the effort and allowed her mind to sink back into oblivion, where she didn't feel sick and her head didn't hurt. Her brain refused to stay there. She had something to do, something very important. She groaned, trying to remember what it was.

The young policeman leaned over her. There was another face, too, a stranger. He looked kind. "Have to get help," Laura mumbled.

"Right now you've got to stay still," the kindly man said. "You've had a bad knock on the head. It's no wonder you passed out."

"Violet," she insisted. "Please, I need Violet, Violet McLarty."

"I'm looking into it," the policeman assured her blandly. "Don't you worry yourself, M'am. You've had a nasty bump, the Doctor says."

"But I have to worry," Laura insisted. "Never mind my head. The point is that Richard and another man, he's a policeman too I think, are still in the cellar, and some criminals were about to come down, people who spoke a strange language, and they've already killed one woman – no, two women now..."

Her voice dwindled away again as she saw the doctor and the policeman exchange a guarded look. This one was in even worse shape than they had feared, the look said, a real crazy. They'd call a psychiatrist next. She could hardly blame them. The story sounded unbelievable even to her.

A telephone rang shrilly and the policeman hustled to pick it up. She saw his face change as he listened. He looked first unbelieving, then astonished and then chagrined. When he replied, however, his voice was crisp and serious.

"Tell them I've got her," he said. "She's here safe and sound at the station. Found her wobbling along on a bicycle with a concussion. Says two men are in the cellar of the old church, the little one on Cob Lane."

Laura tried not to cry. That must mean someone had called, someone was looking for her, maybe Violet...

The policeman came over to her. "Sorry, M'am," he said, sounding genuinely contrite. "Didn't realize who you were, or what had happened. I'll get my men over to that church right away."

"Thank you," Laura breathed, and felt tears roll down her cheeks despite her best efforts to control them. "Oh thank you so much. I didn't think anyone would ever believe me. Please hurry, though. Richard and the other man really are in danger, and that poor woman's body is down there too..."

"Not an easy story to believe, or so I gather," the doctor said cryptically, with a curious glance at Laura. Snapping his bag shut, he addressed her sternly. "You've got a concussion, young lady, not a bad one but no more wobbling about on a bicycle or any other strenuous activity. Sleep and rest is the remedy. I'll come have a look at you in a day or two. Where are you staying?"

Laura provided the information, marveling at the thought that a doctor might still come to a bedside, and then remembered she was leaving tomorrow. "The tour group leaves for Bath in the morning," she said forlornly. She had looked forward to playing invalid for a while. Tired didn't begin to describe the current state of her body and mind.

"The group might be leaving, but you're staying put for a day or two, young lady," the doctor replied tartly. "Bouncing around these roads on a bus is not recommended with a concussion like yours."

"I'll see what I can arrange," Laura answered meekly, and yawned.

The next hours passed in a blur. Laura was aware that the policeman helped her up and into a waiting car, and that to her relief no one was around when she arrived at the hotel and stumbled upstairs to her room. There, a young woman who was either a nurse or a policewoman - Laura wasn't sure and didn't care as long as she could lie down - calmly and efficiently helped her out of her grubby clothes, wrapped her in a freshly laundered and marvelously clean-smelling terrycloth robe and led her to the bed. Laura sank into it, felt hands pull up the duvet and fell gloriously asleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When she woke again, Violet was looking down at her. Her normally cheerful face was haggard, her forehead creased with worry. Memory suddenly returned, and Laura tried to sit up. For all she knew, Richard and the new bus driver were still in that cellar, being tortured. She hadn't managed to tell anyone anything last night; she had just fallen asleep and left them there.

"Did you find Richard and the new bus driver?" she asked anxiously. A wave of dizziness and a pounding head sent her back against the pillow.

"We did," Violet assured her. "They are both safe and sound, if a little the worse for wear. Our gallant Wells police found them enjoying beer and chips left by your captors, who unfortunately for us – if not for the men - had vanished into the night.

"Thank heaven!" Laura suddenly felt better, well enough to realize she was ravenous. She wished she had a cup of tea and something to eat.

As if by magic the young woman who was either nurse or policewoman appeared holding a tray laden with tea makings and small sandwiches. She set it down on the table beside the bed and helped Laura to raise herself very slowly to a position just high enough so she could drink and eat.

"Thought you'd be hungry when you woke up," Violet told her with a chuckle, noting Laura's rapturous expression, "so I sent Rachel to the kitchen for some goodies."

"You're a mind reader," Laura answered as she sipped gratefully at the hot tea Rachel had poured for her and gobbled down a watercress sandwich.

Her appetite abruptly vanished as she remembered Peg. "The bag lady, Peg," she asked. "Did you take her out of there too? I can't bear to think of her still lying in that cold damp cellar."

"We did," Violet answered. "She's going to have a fine funeral, Richard tells me. Everyone in Glastonbury wants to contribute."

Laura smiled. "Maybe I'll go, too," she said, and took another bite.

"If you feel strong enough," Violet said, "I want to hear what happened to you and ask some questions. Once again, we need all the information you can give us."

"Fire away," Laura answered. "But first, what time is it?"

"About ten o'clock in the morning," Violet answered. "An excellent time to re-awaken from your long overdue sleep, which I am heartily glad you had after your adventurous evening. That's what I want to hear about first."

"I suspect your sleep is even more overdue," Laura replied with a critical look at her friend. "Have you been to bed at all?"

"Well, not exactly," Violet demurred. "Snatched a nap here and there. It was a busy night in our department too."

"I want to hear about that if you can talk, but I'll give you what I know first," Laura answered, and related with reasonable coherence what had happened since her interview with the police and her abduction by Abdul. Violet was especially interested in the conversations she had overheard from the cellar and her impressions of the woman who seemed to be in charge and the man who had come in later.

"I call them the icy lady and the pugnacious man," Laura summed up. "She sounded as if she has ice in her veins and he sounded totally ruthless."

Violet also wanted to know what Richard had been told. "Why do you want to know that?" Laura asked curiously. "Surely, he isn't a suspect?"

"Richard is a journalist," Violet replied wryly, "which means a person who is expert at extracting information from other people by any means they can dream up, legitimate and otherwise, and at writing up the results in lurid prose."

"But Richard really is interested in helping to solve the case," Laura objected.

Violet shot her a cynical look. "Perhaps that's true," she admitted. "The problem is that it's difficult to write up a story like this one, complete with titled lady, young celebrity, innocent American tourist who is abducted, murder in a famous garden and an international kidnapping gang, without sensationalism. From my point of view, writing any kind of story, exaggerated or otherwise, is not a help right now."

Laura was abashed. "I never thought of that," she admitted. "I'll ask Richard not to write anything, at least for the time being."

"It's an excellent idea to ask," Violet agreed, "but I suspect you're a bit late. For a man who has an even worse concussion, your friend Richard has been remarkably busy. As far as I can tell, he's been typing all night, when he wasn't extracting information from people. Perhaps his former paper in London speedily renewed his contract when he dangled this bait in front of them."

"I'm such an innocent," Laura said in vexation. "Never again will I tell anyone anything, for any reason."

Lady Longtree poked her head in the door. "Is a visitor permitted?" she inquired blandly. "Or must I consign myself to the dreary sitting room forever?"

"Come right in," Violet invited. "I'm sorry to have you all cooped up. As soon as we've got Abdul behind bars, you'll be able to move around more. We thought we had him before, but he eluded us with help from some forceful friends."

Laura sighed. "If only I'd managed to escape without being seen you would have caught Abdul in the act – and the pugnacious man and icy lady, whoever they are."

Lady Longtree's face lit up with interest. "The icy lady and the pugnacious man?"

Laura clapped a hand to her mouth. Less than one minute after promising never again to tell anyone anything, she had provided the canny old lady with two valuable snippets of information.

Violet laughed at her dismay. "You can talk all you want to Olivia. She isn't under suspicion, except of bending rules that do not happen to suit her, such as creeping back into closed gardens and crawling under police tapes and into crime scenes when the urge to do a bit of detecting comes over her."

"I only stayed a short time and I took care not to touch anything," Lady Longtree stated demurely. "I wasn't quite sure I had the full picture of the cottage in my mind, so naturally I had to go there again."

Laura laughed. "I would have come too if I hadn't been detained elsewhere. What did you find out?"

"I found that as I had suspected, a pair of large feet in street shoes had entered the cottage earlier, and that something heavy had been dragged across the floor," Lady Longtree answered.

Laura closed her eyes to blot out an image of Amy's lifeless body being hauled across the floor and focused on the large feet. Maybe they belonged to the pugnacious man. His feet had sounded big when he had thumped toward the cellar. But who was he, and how did he fit into the case? Could he be the person who had shot Amy?

"Do the police know who shot Amy," she asked Violet.

"We are still investigating," Violet replied briefly. That sounded like the kind of statement one gave to reporters, Laura thought, and decided not to inquire further.

"I gather everyone is still here," she commented instead. "I thought we were heading back to Bath."

"Dr. Bernstein is being held for questioning," Violet answered, again without elaboration. "The rest of us are staying here for another night or two while the police gather more information on the case. It's easier to keep an eye on everyone that way," she explained blandly.

"And in your case, we added an extra precaution." She gestured to Rachel. "This is Rachel. She will keep an eye on you as well as acting as nurse, which she also is. Where you go, she goes, right on your heels. You can talk freely to her, and to William and Olivia. No one else on the tour is fully cleared. I suspect they will all be up here soon, clamoring to hear about your adventures." She grinned. "You can entertain yourself during your convalescence by creating alternate stories to satisfy them."

"You shouldn't be talking too much anyway," Rachel cautioned. "You've still got a concussion."

"I feel much better," Laura assured her. "That food revived me. I have a very hard head, too."

"In that case I shall prolong my visit so I can hear the full account of your recent adventures," Lady Longtree said placidly, and sat down by the bed.

Violet rolled her eyes. "Go right ahead - as long as Laura feels up to repeating that hair-raising – and at times hilarious - tale. I'm on my way to check out some sightings on Abdul, though I doubt they will come too much. He seems to have gone underground for the moment, wherever underground is."

"Bath, I imagine," Laura said to Violet's vanishing back. "Try the coffee shop where we first saw him. He might use that as a base. He might have keys to the houses where we've seen the father, too. They could be working together."

Violet turned. "Good suggestions," she answered, looking impressed. "You definitely have the makings of a detective. See you later."

"An excellent investigator," Lady Longtree pronounced when Violet had gone. "I have great faith in her."

"You know Violet, then," Laura said. "I mean who she is really."

"Yes, my dear, I do. I thought there was something unusual about Violet from the beginning \- appearing suddenly like that, and on this particular tour. So I asked her. I tend to just ask, you see. It often works best. After that we rather put our heads together," she finished vaguely.

Laura decided to imitate the tactic. She wasn't sure the direct approach would work in reverse, considering Lady Longtree's ability to prevaricate, but she had little to lose by trying.

"Why are you and William on this tour?" she asked bluntly. "Why are you still investigating, letting William investigate, after two murders, three murder attempts at least, and the probability of a great deal of unwelcome publicity?"

Lady Longtree looked down at her hands. "I asked for that, didn't I? I must be losing my touch. At any rate, those are valid questions and I wish I could answer them fully, but until this case is resolved I cannot.

"First, though, to relieve your mind, William is being watched carefully for his own safety, and Violet is encouraging him to finish his diagrams about where people were at various times. She says they will be extremely helpful. William adores that sort of challenge and it has the added benefit of keeping him busy inside the hotel.

"Finding Amy rather dampened his taste for detecting anyway," she added with a sigh. "The reality is so much more horrible, especially to the young."

"I'm glad," Laura said bluntly. "I worried about him terribly."

"I too," Lady Longtree agreed. "It is just as well this way.

"But back to your questions: I can only ask for patience in explaining why we are on this tour, as I gather William did. You see, I could put a great many people in danger if I spoke prematurely, one of them a...a dear friend."

She looked down at her hands again, searching for words. "It is a matter of needing to know, to find resolution and justice, or at least closure. One could also say it is a matter of honoring what might be a memory, though I hope it will prove to be more than that. I must know. William must know. We cannot get on with our lives until this matter is resolved. So we came and we will stay until it is finished.

"As for the publicity, we will simply have to endure it." Lady Longtree looked up at the ceiling and blinked. Her chin set at a stubborn angle, but her face was tragic. Laura thought she was holding back tears, and felt tears come into her own eyes.

"It's all right," she said gently. "I don't really need to know. And I'm truly sorry all of this has been so hard for you and William."

Lady Longtree essayed a smile. "It has been difficult at times," she admitted, and blinked hard again.

"I think, you know, that we should be finding out who the man with big feet is," she added, changing the subject completely.

"The pugnacious man," Laura suggested immediately, and launched once more into the tale of her abduction, her wobbly escape on the bicycle and her desecration of the policeman's boots. Lady Longtree was soon laughing, and Laura was glad.

"Have you any idea who the woman you heard – the icy lady you called her – could be?" Lady Longtree asked when her laughter subsided.

"Claudine is the only one I can think of," Laura replied. "It could be her with yet another accent, but it didn't sound like her. The woman I heard was very much in charge, or thought she was, and Claudine doesn't strike me as the authoritarian type. The voice wasn't right, either. The icy lady had a shrill voice now that I think about it. Shrill and hard, like steel. It frightened me."

She slid back against the pillow to relieve the pounding in her head. "If only I could figure out who she is, and who the pugnacious man is, I might get somewhere," she grumbled. "But no one on the tour is quite right for either of them."

"Mr. Takara?" Lady Longtree asked. "He has unusually large feet for a man of his size."

Laura shook her head and immediately regretted it. "He could be the brains behind the organization, but I don't think he's the pugnacious man."

She sat up suddenly and clutched her head again. "The blue jeans man," she blurted. "The one William saw. Did he say what he looked like?"

"A large man," Lady Longtree answered instantly. "He was taller than Abdul, well-built with light brown hair and grey-blue eyes. English looking, that ruddy face, you know. I believe he even wore a tweed jacket."

Laura groaned. If she had thought to ask that question before she could have saved a lot of speculation. He definitely sounded like the pugnacious man.

Against her will, she yawned ferociously and felt her eyes begin to close. "That's him, I'm sure," she murmured.

"I imagine so," Lady Longtree agreed, and stood to leave. "It is time for you to sleep. When you awaken, you will feel like yourself again," she announced positively. "Then you must be very careful, my dear, never to be alone. Someone seems to want you out of the way rather badly, though at this point I'm not certain he or she wants to do you any lethal harm. The difficultly is that once a murder has been committed, whether or not it was a mistake, a second murder seems less onerous. So do be careful. Rachel will keep an excellent eye on you, I'm sure." With a wave, she went briskly out the door.

"Thanks a lot," Laura murmured to her retreating back. "It's good to know someone really doesn't want to murder me even as they try to." She frowned, wondering what Lady Longtree had meant about the murder being a mistake.

"Quite a lady," Rachel observed. "She seems to know a good deal about the case, too. Very clever, I should say. And she may be right. If those people really did want to kill you, they would have succeeded by now, I should think."

"You mean they're just trying to scare me so I'll get out of the way?"

"They were," Rachel answered, stressing the past tense. "Considering all the harm you've done them, they really might want you dead by this time, just not immediately. Pushing you into the street or dropping a rock on your head might have killed you, but abducting you is different. What they want now, I imagine, is information. They mean to put you out of commission but keep you alive until they find out whatever it is they want to know."

"That cheery conjecture will enliven my dreams - if I'm able to sleep at all," Laura retorted glumly, as images of a large man standing over her, knife at the ready, flooded her brain. What on earth did they think she knew?

To her surprise, she did fall asleep, and she didn't even dream. She felt better when she woke up again, too, though not quite as marvelous as Lady Longtree had predicted. After a nice hot shower she would probably feel fantastic.

Laura swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "Shower," she said to Rachel, who was staring fixedly out the window. "It is definitely time for a shower."

Rachel sent her a dubious glance, but she made no verbal objection and Laura headed slowly for the bathroom. On the way, she joined Rachel at the window to see what galvanized her attention.

"It's a good spot to keep an eye on anyone who takes a fancy to walk in the grounds," Rachel explained. "Surprising what a lot of action there's been."

"Your companion of the cellar," she continued, pointing towards an arbor covered with vines. "He and Claudine seem to be great friends."

Laura was astonished – and chagrined, not because Richard was taking an interest in Claudine, which she thought rather sweet although undoubtedly fraught with ulterior motives, but because Richard was accomplishing a great deal on a number of fronts while she was still lying in bed like an invalid.

"Most definitely friends," she murmured, watching Richard's arm slide tenderly around Claudine's shoulders. She responded by leaning against him and turning her face up to his. There was nothing cold or restrained about Claudine now.

A romance born of opportunism, Laura thought to herself, and hoped they knew what they were doing. Probably they did. Claudine would get favorable coverage in the news, and Richard would get a willing source of information.

She studied their faces and changed her mind. They were definitely a pair of clever opportunists, but all the same she suspected she could be seeing the real thing.

Smiling to herself, she went off for her shower. After making liberal use of the expensive moisturizing cream supplied by the hotel, she put on clean clothes from bottom to top and emerged ready for action. Resting in bed wasn't getting her anywhere. There were too many unanswered questions floating around in her mind, and concussion or not, she had to find some answers.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Laura headed downstairs, ignoring her body's treacherous desire to sink down once more into the comfortable bed. If she didn't get out of here, she wouldn't be able to resist that pernicious impulse. But where could she go that would win approval? The police were keeping everyone cooped up like rabbits.

She had a sudden inspiration. "Do you suppose Violet would let us go to Longleat House this afternoon?" she asked Rachel. "I missed it in the last round, and I'd love to see it while we're so close. I can't see how I can get into any trouble touring an Elizabethan manor house, especially if you come too."

Rachel regarded her skeptically; then she grinned. "We can but try," she replied. "And where you go, I go, as Violet observed. Those are my orders, and I've always wanted to see that house anyway. It's supposed to be gorgeous. It even has Lily Langtry's negligee on her – what do you call those little sofas for lounging on?"

"Chaise longue, I believe," Laura supplied.

"Yes. Anyway, she stayed in the little room next to the Prince of Wales because she was having an affair with him and everybody knew it, so they put their rooms near each other. She was an actress, and in those days that was very risqué. They called her the Jersey Lily, because that's where she came from, in America, and because she was so beautiful.

"She did what she liked, that lady," Rachel concluded admiringly.

"I wonder if they used the chaise for their liaisons?" Laura asked. "They're awfully narrow."

Rachel giggled. "What a fuss if they fell off. Then the whole household, especially the servants, would know what they were up to."

Violet came in looking pleased. "Got Abdul," she announced. "Thanks to your suggestion, Laura. We found him hiding out in the father's house in Bath."

"Fantastic!" Laura exclaimed. "That means we don't need to be cooped up here any more. Rachel and I want to go to Longleat House. I didn't see it on our last trip, and I may never have another chance."

Violet groaned. "I am loath to let you out of your room, never mind letting you loose in a tourist attraction. I suppose, though, that I can't stop you, short of locking you in and throwing the key away."

"I'll keep a close eye on her," Rachel promised.

"All right," Violet conceded grudgingly. "As long as you go in Rachel's car and promise to go only to the house and not wander the grounds.

"And stay together, and come right back," she added.

Laura grinned. "We will. Thanks, Violet. Off we go!"

Lady Longtree elected to go with them. "I didn't see the murals painted by the owner on our last visit," she explained. "He's an old friend and I would like to see what he's thinking about these days. He always lets one know in his paintings."

They drove into Longleat along the curving road Laura had noticed from the Safari Park. She peered down the steep hill, hoping for a glimpse of the lions and tigers and wolves she knew were roaming there, but tangles of shrubbery blocked the view.

After Rachel had parked her little car, they stood side by side on the expansive lawn looking up at Longleat House. It was a large building, with two long wings, but the rows of tall windows gave it an impression of lightness and grace. It had a lived in feel, Laura thought, though most of it was open to visitors. Perhaps that was because the owner, the sixth Marquess of Bath and his family, still lived in part of one wing.

Lady Longtree's unexpected fund of personal knowledge helped too. "Alexander, the present Marquess, was a suitor of my sister's," she told them, "but even in those days he was a great eccentric and my parents weren't entirely satisfied about the nature of his intentions. Perhaps they were right. He did have quite a reputation. At any rate, he is a brilliant man with many talents. This whole tourist site was his idea – he opened the house to the public so he could pay the taxes and dreamed up the Safari Park and other attractions so he could keep the place up properly. It's been a great success, but at the time opening one's house to the public wasn't considered proper, not that he ever paid much attention to that. He's a free spirit."

He was also a man who could laugh at himself, Laura mused, as she surveyed the Great Hall through which they entered. The tables were covered with framed drawings of contemporary jokes from magazines and newspapers, most at the owner's expense. They were a welcome relief after the stark rows of glowering portraits she had seen elsewhere.

The Marquess was a big man, six and a half feet tall, Lady Longtree told them, and that, too, seemed in keeping with the enormous spaces all around them. The Great Hall was thirty five feet high; the other rooms were also large as well as richly furnished. Gorgeous tapestries lined the walls, and the ceilings, painted in the Italian style with vivid colors and intricate designs, were magnificent.

Laura sighed with pleasure as she surveyed the opulence around her, glad she was here and not lying forlornly in bed reading inaccurate and highly sensational newspaper accounts of recent events at Stourhead and elsewhere. Richard's were more accurate, but since he refused to divulge his sources, other journalists had to make up stories as best they could.

"It feels wonderful to be here and out of the hotel," she said fervently. "Thank heaven they caught Abdul. Now we can relax and enjoy ourselves."

Lady Longtree frowned. "I hope that is the case," she murmured quietly, and went off to see the murals, which were in the opposite wing. Laura sighed, wondering what the old lady knew that they did not.

She discovered a few pieces of that hoarded knowledge when the three of them met at the outdoor cafe for tea half way through the tour.

"It is interesting, is it not, that all the babies who have been taken are girls?" Lady Longtree remarked as they sat down. "Two more were found earlier today, you know, in tourist attractions further north, both girls."

Laura was startled. "I knew the ones I'd heard about were girls, but I hadn't realized all of them were. It's strange that they take girls. Usually everyone wants a boy. And why leave them in tourist attractions? There must be a reason."

"Yes, there must be," Lady Longtree agreed. "Another fact intrigues me," she went on. "All the girls taken so far have at least one parent of middle-eastern or Arab extraction who is a practicing Muslim. I cannot help but wonder..."

She left the thought unfinished and looked up at them speculatively, even sadly. Laura took a deep breath. An unpleasant explanation had occurred to her, based on the research she'd been doing lately on the treatment of women and girls in areas of the world where fundamentalism had taken hold.

Reluctantly, she gave voice to her thought. "Could the fact that they are all girls have something to do with female circumcision? It's practiced mostly by Muslims in Africa, but I am aware that it still happens in other countries, even when prohibited by law. Old customs die hard, especially in rural areas, and practices that involve repression of women are apt to be resurrected in countries racked by political and religious turmoil."

"Exactly," Lady Longtree replied, looking satisfied, not at the mutilation itself, Laura assumed, but at the fact that the issue had been raised. "Yes, it does go on in other countries, or so I read. Fundamentalism is on the rise but at the same time some girls and even parents are rebelling, often quite publicly, against the practice. That means fewer circumcised women are available for traditional men. It creates a volatile atmosphere, I fear, in which acts of terrible cruelty can be committed, especially against women." Her blue eyes were hard and unforgiving, but her face was filled with sadness.

"A further fact has turned up," she went on, as if determined to get the words out. "There seems to be great wealth involved in this effort to steal baby girls, more money than there usually is in fledgling criminal activities."

Again, she left the implications unvoiced. It was as if she was trying to elicit or even coerce ideas out of them with vague hints and suggestions instead of stating them directly, Laura thought. She also had the strong feeling that Lady Longtree was preparing herself for something unpleasant, something she didn't want to hear. She wondered if it involved the missing granddaughter.

It was also curious that according to Richard, Alan's brand new tour company was well-financed. Could there be a connection?

"There was a case about female circumcision in the papers not too long ago," Rachel said suddenly. "A young woman, a law student, I think, was being forced to marry some older man and get circumcised to do it. She refused point blank, but her father insisted and kidnapped her. She got away and sued him and the man who wanted to marry her. He offered a lot of money for her, so she said her father was selling her, that it was slavery and against her rights, which of course it was."

She turned to Lady Longtree, her eyes wide and startled. "I remember now – it was your daughter who prosecuted them, and she won, too. She didn't charge a fee, your daughter I mean. She told the young woman to use it to get started in law. That was really wonderful of her, I think."

Lady Longtree smiled. "It was a difficult case for my daughter, I recall. She was rather hard to live with during that time. But she won and that was important."

With even greater reluctance, Laura voiced another unpleasant idea. That seemed to be her function in this conversation, she reflected grimly.

"Maybe someone didn't like the way that case turned out and wanted to get at the girls earlier, before they could object," she said slowly, "somebody wealthy who has a vested interest in making sure there are enough properly bought up and circumcised young women to make suitable wives for rich and powerful men in the future. Their parents could be bribed, other people bought...

"Surely, though, that isn't possible in today's world?" she interrupted herself almost desperately.

"Anything is possible with enough money," Lady Longtree replied soberly, and her eyes were steely again. "Still, I do think the matter is coming to a head and will make sense soon," she went on in a more cheerful tone. "Violet will put the picture together, I am sure. She has dealt with many complex cases."

On that note they separated. Their mood less buoyant now, Laura and Rachel resumed the tour.

"Let's do Lily Langtry right away," Rachel suggested. "She will cheer us up and get us back into sightseeing mode. I'm not sure what Lady Longtree was getting at, but I had the feeling it was unpleasant. I wonder how she knows so much."

"By osmosis, I think," Laura answered. "She seems to grab ideas out of the air. Her conversation reminds me of that awful maze outside. I doubt if anyone could unravel Lady Longtree's thoughts."

"She's very clever," Rachel agreed. "Maybe she was a lawyer like her daughter in her younger days. She certainly talks like one sometimes.

"She's wonderfully well-preserved, too," she went on admiringly. "Quite spry, really, and she looks very young sometimes."

"I've noticed that too. Then, at other times, she looks old and sad."

Rachel sighed. "So do we all. Life can be pretty horrendous."

"Yes," Laura agreed, "but for the moment let's forget all that and really look at this incredible staircase and everything else we're seeing. We should keep moving, too. I think they close in less than an hour."

Rachel consulted her map of the house. "If we go the wrong way, against those little arrows on the signs, we'll come to the area where Lily stayed."

"An excellent idea," Laura agreed.

They came first to the Prince of Wales bedroom, where the future king had slept, paid perfunctory attention to a former sitting room, now called a music room because of its collection of old musical instruments, and proceeded to the boudoir, now the Chinese Room, where Lily Langtry had stayed. The beautiful hand painted wallpaper with its oriental theme made the room light and graceful, which Laura thought appropriate for the lovely actress. The chaise longue was there, and the infamous negligee.

"That sofa is dreadfully narrow, I must say," Rachel giggled, and leaned over to finger the robe lovingly. An alarm went off and her hand shot back.

Laura cringed. "Perhaps it's time for us to get out of this room," she murmured over the ear-splitting clang of the alarm.

"I guess it's not a good idea to touch anything," Rachel apologized. "I'll keep that in mind if I see anything else that tempts me."

They fled into the outer hall and lingered innocently over a display of costumes while the attendants in charge of various rooms scurried around trying to tell if anything had been taken before turning the alarm off again. One of the women looked at them suspiciously and Laura searched for a distracting question.

"Why do those draperies behind the costumes go all the way into the next room?" she asked, unable to think of anything else.

The woman brightened, eager to display her knowledge. "There's actually a corridor behind them formed by two parallel rows of draperies that run the whole length of the next room as well as this costume hall," she told them as she ushered them into a long and elegantly furnished room beyond the hall. It was beautifully decorated in deep orange and gold hues.

"This room is called the Saloon, and it's where important people, royalty and so forth, were entertained," the attendant continued. "The draperies were hung along the back wall and around the corner into the costume hall, leaving enough space between the two rows of curtains so that servants could carry trays to the saloon, and linens and hot water to the bedrooms, without disturbing the guests."

Laura was intrigued. "How fascinating! The servants must have seen and heard a lot back there!"

"Indeed they did. Most were loyal but I am sure there were others who took advantage of what they knew to get favors or money."

"My ancestors lived in this area, so they might have been servants here," Rachel mused. She grinned. "I bet they'd have taken a stab at blackmail if they were."

The attendant looked shocked, and Laura led them hastily toward the next room, called the State Dining Room. It was decorated in even deeper tones of reddish orange, and the table settings and ornaments were richly bordered in gold. Sensuous and opulent and exuberant, Laura mused, possibly due to a pronounced taste for Italianate shared by both the present owner and his ancestors.

The pale blue and white of the room they came to next, where the children of the house had lived, was almost a relief. Or it was, until Laura examined the white-flounced antique cradle on display. As she stared, the cradle rocked slightly, and she heard a faint hiccup. She glanced around the room. No one else was there, not even an attendant. Then who had hiccupped?

Leaning over the barrier, she peered into the cradle. A baby was inside it – a baby whose chest rose and fell at regular intervals. "Oh no! Not another one!" she breathed.

Rachel stared at the child in consternation. "But what should we do? We can't just leave it here."

Laura made up her mind instantly. "We have to take it. Who knows what might happen to it if we don't. I'll try to ease it out of the cradle without touching anything while you stand guard."

Rachel went to the hallway and peered up and down. "We're in luck," she murmured. "No one's in sight."

Gingerly, Laura leaned across the barrier and tried to get the baby out without touching the cradle. It was impossible. Finally, she simply scooped the child up in her arms and cradled it. The alarm bells began to ring again.

Laura spotted a life-sized doll leaning against the wall that she suspected was the usual occupant of the cradle. "Put it back in the cradle," she whispered.

Rachel understood immediately. Grabbing the doll, she arranged it carefully under the covers. Then they sauntered back into the State Dining Room, trying to look causal despite the deafening noise. The attendant who had been in the room was no longer there, apparently lured elsewhere by the clamor.

A husky man who had just entered the room eyed them suspiciously: then he brushed past them hurriedly and loped into the children's room. Laura had a dreadful feeling that he was about to report them.

"We'd better get out of here," she muttered to Rachel. "He looked like he was going to report us."

They headed for the stairs, but a large party of tourists swarming up them made escape impossible, so they looked for a hiding place.

"Quick, behind the curtains," Rachel whispered. "The ones on the other side of the servant's corridor are right over there."

Sprinting to them, she pulled the draperies aside just far enough so they could creep into the space behind, and then settled the rich fabric back in place. They stood perfectly still, waiting. Laura hoped their feet didn't show and even more that the draperies were neither dusty nor moldy and elicit an explosive sneeze.

The baby stirred and opened its mouth as if to yell. Rachel popped a pacifier hanging around its neck between the pink lips. The baby sucked contentedly and fell asleep again. How could it sleep through this racket? Probably it had been drugged like the other one, Laura realized with a pang, and prayed it would be all right.

They heard running footsteps, a voice. "An American woman," the voice said. Laura froze, hoping the attendant wouldn't remember her question about the curtains and decide to examine them. More footsteps came, then another voice, this one irritated. "It's that new alarm system. It goes off if someone breathes on it. Nuisance, it is. We'll have to get someone in to make it less sensitive. I'll call, shall I, to ask if we can turn it off until then? It's almost closing time anyway."

"The American woman seems to have left and nothing is missing or out of place," another voice reassured.

After a few moments the alarm went off and the attendants returned to their posts. Laura and Rachel stayed perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe in the ensuing silence.

Gradually, normal sounds resumed - admiring if repetitive comments on the décor and furnishings, and curious questions about the present owner and his family, followed by patient explanations by the staff.

"What next?" Rachel whispered under cover of the next question. "I need to get a message to Violet and it's impossible from here."

Laura considered. "Let's try to come out of the curtains near the stairs. No attendants are stationed there and we'll be able to scoot straight down to the hall. Those tourists should be out of the way by now."

They waited again until there was silence, indicating that no visitors were in the Saloon; then they tiptoed along the narrow passage between the two rows of curtains. As handy for them as it had been for the servants, Laura thought. It was also very dark.

She sensed rather than saw that they had come to the far corner of the Saloon and stopped. Rachel bumped into her and Laura felt the curtains sway a little.

They stayed still again, holding their breath, but nothing happened. More visitors came in; they waited again and then finally rounded the corner.

Laura tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. They weren't out yet. Her chest felt tight, constricted. Was it the old draperies or just tension?

She felt Rachel's hand on her arm. "Wait," she whispered. Laura heard them then, stealthy footsteps nearby. Had one of the attendants seen them? An employee wouldn't sneak around, though. He or she would get help. Maybe someone else was following them. The person who had been meant to pick up the baby perhaps?

The sound stopped, came again, and Laura thought she heard faint breathing. Someone really was creeping through the curtains. No – not through them, just outside them, she thought. Rachel gripped her hand hard.

"May I help you, Madam?" The voice was loud and peremptory. Laura jumped and she felt Rachel's hand tighten convulsively.

"Oh! Oh, you startled me!" It was a woman's voice, outside the curtains. Some of the tension went out of Laura's chest. The attendant hadn't been talking to them.

"I was just looking at the back of these costumes," the woman explained nervously. "I'm... I'm a designer, you see..."

"Visitors are required to stay behind the ropes, Madam. If you would come with me, please."

"But I don't... I was only looking. I didn't mean any harm, I'm sure..." The woman's voice trailed off again, presumably because she was being led away.

"That's a stroke of luck!" Rachel whispered in her ear. "They must think she set of the alarms earlier, too."

"Let's get out of here before they change their minds," Laura whispered. She peeked out of the curtain, saw no one and slid through. Rachel followed. They sauntered past the rest of the costumes and into the upstairs hall. There was no sign of the man they had seen in the dining room. Probably he had only been another tourist.

The Grand Staircase was just ahead. Good. Only the hall and they would be out. The baby stirred restlessly in Laura's arms as they descended the stairs, and she rocked it gently. "Don't start to cry now," she begged it wordlessly. "As soon as we get in the car you can let loose."

Soothed by the rocking, the baby settled. Almost there, Laura told herself like a mantra. Almost there, don't run, just walk..."

She saw the exit ahead, and then they were out and walking quickly toward the parking lot. No one came near them or even seemed to notice them. Laura took a deep breath. They were all right now. No one would confront them here, with all these cars and tourists coming and going.

Rachel punched Violet's number into her phone. "Violet is out but she'll come as soon as they find her," she reported. They'll send help, too, as quickly as they can."

"Lady Longtree!" Laura said suddenly, and stopped walking.

"We can't just leave her here," Rachel agreed.

"You're right. I'll go back in and fetch her if you'll take the baby to the car and come straight back for us," Laura offered. "I'll be less noticeable that way - especially if it chooses that moment to yell," she added, looking suspiciously at the baby, who had thrust the pacifier out of its mouth with a discontented frown.

"Okay. I'll get the car and come slowly down the drive to pick you up," Rachel agreed. Taking the baby gently from Laura, she walked toward the car park, picking up her pace as the child began to whimper.

Laura turned to go back inside. She was on her way up the front steps when a man stepped out from the thick shrubbery at the side of the house and pressed something cold and hard into her back.

"We are leaving now," he told her. "Together."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Laura had no choice but to obey. Her abductor was pressed so close against her that she could feel his breath on her neck, and the gun at her back didn't waver even when she stumbled.

When they reached the driveway, the man shifted his position. With a deft and well-practiced movement, he slid to her side, put one arm around her and pressed the gun against her ribs. They looked like a strolling couple now, Laura realized. His jacket covered the gun. No one would notice.

The man in the dining room, she realized belatedly, glancing at him. He must have been sent to pick up the baby. Once he knew they had it, all he had to do was wait until they came out with it.

But if that was so, why hadn't he accosted her while she was still holding the child? Why had he waited?

Because then Rachel was with her. He'd wanted to separate them. Someone else must be waiting for Rachel, to wrest the baby away from her, or take both of them...

Laura licked her dry lips. She had to get away, warn Rachel. But how?

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, trying to stall for time.

"You'll find out. Faster." The gun pressed more forcefully into her side. Laura picked up her pace until they reached the first of the car parks, the one for busses only, where she was forced to slow down.

One of the busses opened its doors, disgorging a group of teenagers who were chattering loudly and volubly in French. They surged toward Laura and her assailant, making no effort to avoid them. Some passed to their right, others to their left as they hurled comments at each other and laughed uproariously.

One large youth bumped into them, and Laura heard an object clatter to the pebbled driveway. The man behind her swore under his breath and stooped to retrieve it. Another youth tripped over it, kicking it out of his reach.

"Pardon, Monsieur," he apologized politely, and reached down to pick up the object himself. He stared at it. "Mon dieu! C'est un pistol!" He held it out in front of him, astonished.

"I'll take it please." Her assailant's voice was steely.

Laura didn't wait to find out what happened. Wrenching her arm away from her captor's grip, she sprinted for the trees on the other side of the parking lot.

Another man spoke behind her. "Pardon, Monsieur, mais je ne pense... But I do not think that is a good objet to have here," he reproved in stilted English.

"Give it to me. Now."

"Mais Monsieur..." Laura heard the sound of a scuffle. Her attacker must have run out of patience.

"Il me harass!" she yelled over her shoulder frantically. "Il est mechant. Il essaye me kidnap. Keep him there, ne let him go..."

Oh please heaven, what is that in French? she whispered, unable to think.

"Il est kidnapper!" she screamed instead, giving the last word a French accent. "Kidnapper! Ne let him go..."

Behind her she heard a loud babble of noise, exclamations in two languages in excited voices. "Oui! Oui! Nous le guardons ici!" someone shouted.

Resisting an impulse to weep with relief, Laura ran on. If they kept him there, she could circle around and intercept Rachel in case Violet didn't reach her in time.

She kept running for a few more minutes; then, when she heard no sounds of pursuit, only a series of cheers, she dared to look back.

Her assailant was lying spread-eagled on his face against the gravel drive. At least a dozen French students were lined up along his back, his limbs, even his head. Laura started to laugh. They had saved her. Those blessed French students had saved her. Still chortling, she retraced her steps. She might catch Rachel after all, and Violet would soon be here with help.

She was half way back to the car park when she saw a big man detach himself from the crowd of cheering students and walk in her direction. Good. Someone was coming to help her.

The man came closer and she saw him clearly. He was tall and well-built, very ruddy and English-looking. He wore jeans and a tweed jacket.

Laura froze. The pugnacious man; she knew it without a shadow of doubt. There was menace in his gait as he came toward her, like a hunter stalking his prey. His face was cruel, remorseless. Her stomach went hard with fear.

The man saw her stop, and his lips twisted into a smile of triumph, as if he had caught her already. His eyes never left her face. They bored into her, freezing her in place, so that she couldn't move, couldn't even react, as if she were a deer caught in headlights.

A car engine started up noisily, releasing Laura from the man's spell. She turned and ran, stumbling in her haste to get away from him. Rachel's words pounded through her brain in rhythm with the throbbing of her head: What they want from you now is information... He would torture her if he caught her, would try to wrench what he wanted to know out of her any way he could – except she didn't know what it was and couldn't even make it up because she had no idea what was going on...

Laura put one hand over her heart to prevent it from beating so hard and ran faster. Her head throbbed wildly, but she hardly noticed. All she knew was that she was more terrified of the man behind her than she had ever been of any person in her life. He was ruthless, maniacal. She must not let him catch her...

Only when she came up against a barrier, a fast-moving stream directly across her line of flight, did she stop. It was too wide to leap across.

She dared to look behind her and saw no sign of her pursuer. Maybe he had given up. She didn't believe it.

The narrow road that led to the Safari Park was on her left. A road would have a bridge across the stream. She could go there. Shifting direction, she ran toward it. A car was coming slowly along the road. It came closer and she saw him in the driver's seat. The big frame, the ruddy face couldn't be mistaken.

Panic engulfed Laura. She looked wildly around. Trees; there were trees to her right. They would give her cover. She whirled, ran that way.

The piercing sound of a train whistle cut through her terror. Her head swiveled to see where it was, and then she remembered. There was a children's train here; she could see it chugging along its tracks on the other side of the stream. Children's heads hung out the windows. Maybe she could get on the train, get away from him that way. He would never think to look on a train.

But where did she get on? Get out of sight first, she told herself. She plunged into the trees, immediately felt safer in their thick cover.

Heavy footsteps came rapidly along the stream. His footsteps.

People, Laura thought frantically; find people. She crept to the edge of the trees, spotted signs for a gift shop and restrooms. She could go into the ladies room. He couldn't follow her in there. She could ask for help, too, at the shop.

She squinted at the signs, trying to see which way to run, and saw him instead. He had beaten her to it, was already waiting for her. There was no anxiety in his face, only confidence, and cruel indifference. He had guessed what she would try to do, knew he could stop her because he could see in all directions...

A strangled sob emerged from Laura's throat. He had chosen exactly the right place to cut her off from everyone...

It was impossible to stop looking at him.

Tearing her eyes forcibly away, she sidled through the trees, unable to think what to do next. An image of herself climbing a tree came into her mind. Could she do it? Another image came of him waiting under the tree with total self-assurance, maybe even smiling at her... It would do no good...

A second whistle penetrated. Was a train about to leave? Maybe she could leap on it just as it pulled out so he wouldn't be able to get on.

That was it, Laura thought. Jump on at the last minute.

The train came into view and she saw that it was going the wrong way, into the station, not out of it. Still, it was on her side of the stream – and it was between her and the man. She jogged beside it, hoping he wouldn't see her feet.

The ticket booth was just ahead. She would go in and buy a ticket and then get on with the crowd of children. A measure of optimism returned as she thought of this plan, and she made an effort to stop her hands from trembling as she joined the line of parents and children waiting to buy tickets.

The ticket attendant was waiting. Laura rummaged in her pockets for change. Pulling out a handful, she mumbled something about not having the right glasses to see which coin was which and let the attendant sort through the pile for her.

"Only yourself, M'am?" he asked politely. Laura whirled, afraid the man was behind her. He wasn't.

"Oh, yes, just me. My niece is already on the train," she lied, thinking he might find it strange that a middle-aged woman wanted to ride a children's train by herself. The attendant didn't care. Putting his hand over his mouth to hide a yawn, he signaled to the next customer.

Laura tried to decide if she should stay here and board with the group, or hide again until the train left. She chose the first option. He couldn't very well haul her away forcibly in full view of all these people. In fact, she realized as a measure of rationality returned, he was in a very weak position. He couldn't shoot her with dozens of people watching either, or even put a gun to her back and take her away. All she had to do was scream.

Why hadn't she screamed when the other man had put a gun at her back? How did they manage to have guns anyway? People weren't supposed to have guns in England, she thought indignantly.

"All aboard," someone shouted. The chattering group of children and parents surged into the train. Laura clambered up the steps with them and hunched down on the side away from her stalker.

The whistle sounded again. The train jerked to a start and proceeded along the stream, picking up speed as it went. Only then did Laura realize that she would have to get off the train again at the same point. He could just wait. She hadn't thought this plan through very well.

Unless, of course, he concluded that he had lost her and gave up. She looked across the rows of children toward the stream to see if he was walking back to his abandoned car.

He wasn't. Instead, he was standing beside the stream, watching the train go by. Once again, he had anticipated her movements. He was diabolical, she thought with another surge of panic. A diabolical man who wouldn't give up until he had her in his clutches... Why was she so important to him? What was so special about her?

Laura ducked down as far as she could, muttering to the woman beside her that she had dropped her keys. She scrabbled around under the seat, found nothing but sticky bubble gum. Were they past him yet?

They must be. She dared to come up. "Find them?" the woman asked.

Laura jumped. "Oh! I realized I'd left them behind," she explained lamely.

The woman wasn't interested. The child was tugging at her hand, wanting her to look at something. "That man's running beside the train," he said importantly. "Why is he doing that?"

"He's a nut," the woman answered lazily. "Some people just like to run after trains and wave."

"That's stupid. They should ride them instead like us," the boy announced with satisfaction. "He's waving at us, too. Stupid man. He doesn't even know us."

Laura tried not to shiver. He knew her, and that wave was his message to her. He was telling her that he had her at his mercy and she could do nothing to stop him. What kind of a man would do that? A sadist, she realized, and couldn't control the shiver that ran up her spine.

A wave of hopelessness assaulted her. He would wait at the station until the train returned and then she wouldn't be able to stop him. He would grab her from behind as she tried to run and she wouldn't be able to scream; she would be too paralyzed with fear. He knew she would be, and so he could afford to be bold, bold and patient. How was she to escape such a man?

If only she could hide, curl up in a dark hole somewhere and not move. He couldn't find her then. The desire grew, seemed to consume her. She mustn't let it. She had to get off before they got back to the station.

Of course, why hadn't she thought of that before? But would the train slow down enough, so she could jump off? The answer came from an unexpected source.

"The tunnel!" the child screamed. "That's why they're slowing down, because of the tunnel. They always do that and it's dark and spooky." He shivered.

They had come around another corner and Laura saw a lake ahead. And only a short distance away, the tunnel. The train was creeping forward.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm going to look for my niece while the train isn't moving so fast."

Rising to her feet, she stumbled over her seat-mates and walked quickly toward the rear of the train. It was going very slowly now, inching through the darkness of the tunnel as children screeched in mock terror.

Laura stood swaying beside the last door, and just as the rear of the train exited the tunnel, she stepped down. Her knees buckled. She fell heavily and rolled down the steep embankment beside the tracks.

Well done, she congratulated herself shakily. She had accomplished the first step. But what was the second step? The ones after that?

She had to figure out where she was. That came first, she decided, trying to think rationally. Another thought sabotaged her resolve. This was called the Safari Train, and that must mean it went into the Safari Park so the children could see the animals. Maybe it had bypassed all those protective gates when it went under the tunnel. She could walk right into the tiger or the lion enclosure without even knowing.

As if to confirm her fear, a lion roared not far away. Laura shuddered. The tigers and leopards were even more dangerous. They would leap on her back as she walked by, dig in their claws and reach around for her throat with those long sharp teeth...

Terrified, Laura stumbled to her feet. She had to find a place to hide, from the animals, from the pugnacious man. He was most terrifying of all. The animals might kill her but he would...

Stop, her mind screamed at her. Stop!

Another train was coming. Hastily, Laura looked for a hiding place, saw trees. She ran headlong into their midst. They were thick, comforting. Her legs were trembling so she sat down, leaning her back against a tree. She needed to think, to be rational, but the throbbing in her head made it hard to focus.

She thought in images instead, pictured finding the entrance road to Longleat and flagging down a car. Even if they didn't believe her or thought she was crazy, she would be safe. The worst was being here, where no one could help her. Why had she let him chase her here, away from all sources of help?

Because he was an expert at stalking, at knowing how to cut his victims off from other people, knowing exactly how to terrify them so that they made the worst decisions, did stupid things.

That was what he had done to her. He was playing with her, the way a cat played with a mouse. She pictured it; he was the cat, utterly without mercy, she was the mouse, running endlessly in a state of abject terror.

The image hit Laura with physical force. She sat up straight, astonished. And then she was suddenly furious - at her tormenter but even more at herself for allowing him to turn her into a victim, a silly little mouse with no defenses, no ability to think. Anger gave her unexpected strength, made her feel steely with determination.

"You might be expert at victimizing other people," she muttered aloud through clenched teeth, "but I am damned if you're going to victimize me any longer." Instead, she would become expert at defying him, at thumbing her nose at him, at evading him at every turn.

Laura smiled to herself, a grim smile that forced a confidence she didn't yet feel but was determined to develop. This was a test of wills, and a test of wits. That was the way she must think of it. There was too much at stake to fail. The baby and Rachel were in danger too, and needed her help. How could she have forgotten that?

Because he is an expert, she reminded herself, and renewed her resolve. What she had to do was anticipate his movements, his choices, instead of letting him anticipate hers. She needed a hiding place where she could wait until he gave himself away, either by coming after her or by failing to appear.

Laura rose and walked through the trees, sticking to the thickest growth, the shadows, and watching where she put her feet so she wouldn't give herself away by tripping or cracking branches. The lake appeared suddenly before her, as calm and peaceful as a lake could be, its placid surface broken only by a small boat carrying the usual load of children and parents. The sight was incongruous but reassuring.

Maybe she could swim to the boat, Laura thought, or perhaps take refuge in that island in the middle of the lake. Then she spied a number of large dark animals roaming its shores and realized she couldn't. Those were gorillas, and gorillas might not take to a drenched and unexpected visitor. For all she knew, those dark fins she saw sticking out of the water belonged to sharks, too.

She searched for another solution. To her left was a steep slope littered with piles of rock. They weren't very big but they might be large enough to conceal her. She picked her way up the slope, stepping carefully so she didn't dislodge pebbles. She was lucky and almost immediately saw a small cave behind one of the rock piles. It faced the woods so if he came through the trees, she would see him. Wriggling into the dark space, Laura sat down to wait and think.

She must plan for all alternatives. First, she couldn't return to the station since he could be there. That one was easy. If he had followed her on the next train or by foot or car or both, she must plan how to evade him. If he looked up and saw her – well, she might just put the shark and gorilla theory to the test.

A movement in the trees caught her attention, and she drew in her breath. He was there. So he had come after her. Good. She had caught him in his game. Her game now, she reminded herself, discovering that her anger was still intact. And her mind, as if she had been given a shot of adrenalin.

She watched him, not staring lest he feel her gaze, but warily. He was standing perfectly still now, waiting for her to give herself away by running. Laura forced herself into total stillness.

A sound came from deeper in the woods, just the faintest rustle, as if a sure-footed animal were moving. The man crept stealthily toward it, his muscles tense, his eyes focused straight ahead.

Laura reached for a rock and lobbed it as far as she could from a sitting position in the direction of the first sound. It landed with a satisfactory thump. She saw the man smile, a confident smile that said: I shall soon have her. He moved rapidly in that direction. She waited, lobbed another rock, taking the chance of standing up for a split second to throw so it would go further. She had once played for a children's baseball team, her only claim to sporting prowess, and she hoped her arm still functioned. It did. Her aim was true and the rock landed well ahead of the first. The man strode toward it with even greater confidence.

That wasn't so hard! Laura was astonished by her success, but she had no time to congratulate herself. As if sensing a trick, the pugnacious man stopped abruptly. She lobbed another rock, off to the side this time. Without waiting to see its effect, she slithered as silently as she could down to the lake and ran along its edge. There was sand under her feet and she didn't think he could hear her. More trees stretched ahead; she slid into them and ran until she came to a road. A single car was driving slowly along it, as before. Could he have gone back for his car and got here already? It didn't matter. She couldn't take the chance. Laura crept back into the trees.

She ran for what felt like a long time, and then permitted herself to stop, mostly to listen in case he was following. There were sounds, but faint ones. And then, close at hand, she heard a frantic squeal, as if a wolf or another predator had caught a small animal. It was followed by a long drawn out howl, as if one wolf were calling to another. Another howl came, this one further away.

Unnerved, Laura listened until the sounds had died away. She looked at her watch. Past eight o'clock already. Soon it would be fully dark. Maybe she should try to find her way back to Longleat House before all the light went.

She couldn't do that, she realized. The pugnacious man was more likely to spot her if she went back the way she had come, and anyway she wasn't sure which way was back. Better to look for the entrance road and walk out of the park. Closing her eyes, she tried to visualize the layout of the Safari Park in relation to the entrance road, but it was all a blur in her mind. If only she had her backpack, with its maps, its flashlight! But packs weren't allowed in Longleat House, lest they inadvertently knock over fragile treasures, so she had left it in Rachel's car.

Useless to wish; she must think instead. It seemed to her that the Safari Park described a rough circle, and she knew that the entrance road was above the steep slope that formed one side of the predator's area. How far up did the animals roam, and how could she know when she was in and when she was out of their enclosures?

She couldn't know. Laura shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest for warmth and comfort. All she could do was hope that an outer fence enclosed the park to protect her from night-hunting animals. First, though, she had to find it, and the only way to do that was to go toward the howls, the squeals of fright, and all the other unknown cries that came from the Safari Park at night....

Chittering sounds broke the stillness. Monkeys – they had made sounds like that when they'd climbed around on the bus. Monkeys wouldn't harm her. She would go that way.

Laura plodded wearily toward the chittering sounds but after a while they stopped. Was that because the monkeys had settled in for the night or because she was going in the wrong direction?

Footsteps sounded behind her. She whirled but saw no one. Resisting an almost overwhelming impulse to run, she stole silently along, imagining that she was an animal that must not be heard. The footsteps ceased but she kept going anyway. Darkness began to envelop her, stealing her vision, but she paid no attention. On and on she crept, until she had lost all sense of time, until she was so tired she couldn't think, could hardly move. She wanted only to lie down and sleep, but she resisted. Oddly, the thought of prowling leopards and lions and tigers had ceased to bother her. Instead, fear of the pugnacious man was all that kept her upright.

After a long time, much longer than she had expected, she found a fence. It was lower than she had imagined. Any of the animals could get over it. Laura shook her head, dismissing the problem. She was too tired to care. She trudged on, putting one foot in front of the next automatically, stopping only to catch her breath. All light had long ago fled from the sky, so she kept one hand on the fence to guide her. A fence had to go somewhere, and that was where she would go.

The terrain became steeper, and she used the fence to haul herself up. Often, she stumbled and fell to her knees, because her legs wouldn't hold her any more or because she had tripped over some unseen object. Each time she lay where she was until some impulse made her stagger up and blunder ahead again, mostly up but sometimes down slopes and over small streams. And all the while she listened to the sounds of the night. The wolves had ceased their howling but the lions roared from time to time, and there were other sounds she didn't know, softer, less intrusive growls and whimpers. None of the noises frightened her any more; she liked them. They were company, assurance that she wasn't alone in the darkness. Nor did the dark frighten her. It enclosed her, kept her safe. The man couldn't see her in the darkness. That was good, though she couldn't seem to remember why.

The fence was going down now, steeply down. It was almost harder than going up because it was like stepping out into space. Laura was ready to give up and simply lie down when the ground under her feet abruptly changed, became hard. Had she come to the road? She must have. That was good, too. She would follow the road instead of the fence. But which way should she go? The question roused her from her exhausted stupor, made her remember what she was doing and why. She must be careful again. He could be roaming the Longleat roads in his car, looking for her.

Was she on the entrance road or the road into the Safari Park? There was no way to tell. She must be sure to duck into the bushes if she saw headlights. She must be sure to stay on the road, too. That was important.

For another long time she saw nothing and simply walked, struggling to keep herself alert enough to remember why it was important to walk, to stay on the road, to hide from the man who wanted to hurt her. When she did manage to remember, she leaned down and put her hand on the ground to make sure she was still on pavement. After a while, though, even those necessities failed to rouse her. She was too tired to think or to walk or even to stand. She would have to lie down soon. She sighed. Perhaps that didn't matter either.

Then, abruptly, there was light directly ahead of her. Laura stopped, blinded and confused. There was too much light, too suddenly. Instinctively, she whirled away from the light and held up a hand to shield her face.

And then he was there, behind her, twisting her other arm backwards at a cruel angle. Laura screamed and fell to her knees.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Walk," the man commanded. Numbly, Laura obeyed. Prodding her with a gun, he forced her to go faster. She stumbled and fell. He pulled her savagely up again and shoved her forward. Gasping with pain, Laura staggered on.

They were coming to a parking lot. It held a lone car. His car. She saw figures, too, shadowy and indistinct.

"Damn!" His voice. He had seen the figures too, was alarmed. So he hadn't known anyone else was there. What might that mean?

Help. It must mean help. The realization snapped Laura out of her numb exhaustion and forced her brain back into focus.

When he let go of her arm for a second to adjust the gun, she leaped away from him. He was too quick for her. Grabbing her again, he pulled her hard against his chest and pressed the gun to her head.

"Don't come closer," he warned the figures beyond him.

"Let her go and we won't touch you." Violet's voice. Violet would stop him somehow. Laura's body sagged with relief, and she slid toward the ground.

The man jerked her upright again. "Fat chance," he sneered, and moved slowly toward his car, the gun in front of him now, aimed at the shadowy figures.

Just as he got there, the night seemed to explode into movement. Laura saw a hand holding car keys fly through the air in front of her and smash into the man's face, keys first. He dropped her arm and put a hand to his cheek. Swearing savagely, he aimed the gun at his attacker.

Before Laura had time to react, Rachel, who seemed to be the source of all this movement, knocked the gun out of the man's hand with a quick chop of her wrist and shoved the car keys into his face again, point first. He raised both hands to his eyes this time, screaming with pain. Calmly, Rachel delivered a powerful thrust with her knee in the direction of his abdomen. Her long blond ponytail swung in rhythm with the movement. He doubled over, clutching his groin. A sideways blow to the neck sent him plunging face first to the ground.

Laura stared in wonder, first at him, then at Rachel. She felt unable to move, unable to think. Other people came and bent over the fallen man, clipping handcuffs to his wrists.

"Laura! Laura! Are you all right?" Violet sounded frantic. Laura took a step toward her to reassure her, but for the second time in as many days her body betrayed her, and she crumpled to the ground.

Violet caught her just before she dropped. Laura heard her voice through a fog of semi-consciousness. "Water. Check the pulse. I think she's all right, just exhausted." A hand picked up her limp wrist. Rachel, she thought.

"Baby," Laura muttered.

"Fine. Being checked out in hospital just in case." Yes, Rachel's voice, still calm, though she did sound out of breath.

Laura sighed, took a deep breath herself. "He came after me, stalked... I think he likes that."

"He does." Violet's vice was grim. "Abusive bastard."

"I'm tired." Laura sighed again, tried to sit. "What time is it?"

"Well past midnight. We've been looking for you for hours."

"Sorry. I got lost. It's nice at night, though. You can hear the animals. Friendly."

Rachel stared at her. "Lions and tigers are friendly? I would have been absolutely terrified."

Laura tried to explain "Better than him. He's... he's not just terrifying. He's... he's monstrous, sadistic. Who is he?"

"Margaret's erstwhile boyfriend," Violet said, still in that grim tone. "We'll tell you all about it later but now you need to rest."

She helped Laura to her feet. "Once more, I shall greet you in the morning with a lovely tray of tea and ask you questions. Now, let's go. Time for sleep."

Laura made no objection. She let them haul her into a waiting car and back to the hotel. Once again, Rachel helped her out of her grubby clothes, into the pristine robe and tucked her into bed. She was so small to have downed that horrible man, Laura marveled as she watched Rachel smooth out the covers. So gentle and yet so strong.

"Where did you learn to do all that?" she murmured sleepily.

"Police Academy." Rachel grinned. "I figured it would come in handy. Everyone is always bigger than I am. It's fun, too. They always look so surprised."

"I think you ought to teach me," Laura mumbled, and closed her eyes.

"We'll start first thing tomorrow," Rachel answered demurely, but Laura was already asleep.

True to her word, Violet appeared the next morning, followed by Rachel bearing a pot of tea and what smelled like freshly baked croissants.

"Magnificent," Laura exclaimed, sniffing. She poured out a cup of tea, stirred in milk and sugar and sipped ecstatically.

"You have remarkable powers of recovery," Violet remarked admiringly as she poured a cup for herself and for Rachel.

"Believe me, it feels so good to be away from that man and to know he can't get at me again, that no amount of aches and pains can compare," Laura replied.

"But how about all those wild animals," Rachel protested. "I can't believe they didn't frighten you at all."

Laura popped a bite of croissant into her mouth and considered. "They did frighten me at first, but after a while he seemed so much more of a threat that I began to see them as allies. If he had come at me out there I would have leaped into an enclosure if I'd been sure where one was.

"I think you were the really brave one," she added, "to take on a huge sadistic bully all by yourself."

"Well, I know how to do that," Rachel answered nonchalantly. "It's just a matter of training."

"If you have two have finished arguing about who is bravest," Violet remarked, "I should like to hear Laura's story. If, that is, she has time to talk between bites."

"I should also like to say," she went on severely, "that I am tempted to dump you in a cell until this is over. That might be the only way to keep you safe. Unless you promise not to go exploring again I damn well will!"

"I didn't mean to go exploring," Laura pointed out. "And it isn't my fault they chose yesterday to put a baby in Longleat."

"I imagine they chose yesterday either because they thought you were out of commission or because they wanted to set a trap for you," Violet answered. "Regardless, I should have insisted that you stay here."

"But then I wouldn't have been able to see Rachel do her stuff," Laura teased, with her mouth full of croissant, "or to commune with the animals."

She almost choked as she grasped the implications of Violet's second statement. "But how could they set a trap for me unless they knew I was going to Longleat House? Even I didn't know until just before I left."

"Exactly," Violet agreed. "That's why I want you to try to recall who was nearby when you asked me if you and Rachel could go to Longleat."

"You mean someone in this hotel arranged for a baby to be put in that cradle just so I would find it and they could grab me?" Laura's voice was unbelieving.

"Seems incredible I know, but we have to take the possibility into consideration. We think it unlikely that the organization would plan another kidnapping right now, and that they would carry it out right under our noses, so to speak, unless they had some other powerful motive, like trapping you."

"I see what you mean," Laura agreed, "but I still don't understand why it's so important to them to catch me. What have I done?"

"I suspect it has a lot to do with your research," Violet replied. "Your field is the treatment of women and children in areas of the world where fundamentalism is taking hold. You have been particularly vocal about female circumcision. If you add that to the fact that you found the first baby and haven't stopped hounding them ever since, their assumption that you are dangerous to them or know something they don't want you to know makes a good deal of sense. They might even think you came on this tour to spy on them, right from the start – you saw the first baby's family in the airport even before you got here, don't forget."

Laura blinked. "I hadn't thought of that!"

"Well, they did," Violet retorted. "Now, who was nearby?"

"Okay." Laura took a deep breath and tried to recreate the scene in the hall. "I saw Claudine in the next room with Richard, and I think I saw the Takaras near the door, cameras in hand. One of the maids was carrying towels up the stairs..."

Her voice trailed off, and she shivered. The list of suspects was shrinking. Who among that small group could have betrayed her?

"Roger Brown must know who it was," she said. "Has he told you anything?"

"Not a thing," Violet answered. "Abdul is more cooperative since he's facing a murder charge. He told us that he works for an organization that procures baby girls from Islamic backgrounds for wealthy Saudi men. He says he isn't sure what it's all about and that he doesn't know who else is involved. I don't believe him."

"Roger could be the brains behind the organization, but maybe Abdul is afraid to say so," Laura suggested.

Violet shook her head. "I wish it were so, but I don't think he is. Roger recruits workers and parents in this country, but someone else runs the operation. When we ask who it is, both Abdul and Roger get a frozen look on their faces and won't utter a word. They're afraid, very afraid, so whoever is in charge must be formidable.

"They can't or won't reveal the identity of the Saudis who organized the group, either," she added in frustration. "So we're stumped on those essential pieces of evidence. We need a breakthrough, and I've got to figure out how to get one.

"Your turn now," she ordered. "Tell me everything that happened."

Obediently, Laura related her story, complete with baby, French students atop her spread-eagled assailant and her flight from the pugnacious man.

"He was so confident, so cruel looking," she said with a shiver. "If you two hadn't come I would have been... Well, I don't want to think about it."

A voice came from the doorway. "Bravo! Bravo!" Lady Longtree stood there, with William behind her. "A woman after my own heart."

Laura felt herself blush, outrageously pleased at the compliment. "You should check out Rachel," she said hastily. "She felled the guy who had a gun at my head with a few well directed blows and her car keys."

"Wow! I'd like to be able to do all that stuff." William's face registered awe. Laura frowned, aware that a delicate piano concerto was floating up the stairs. How was that possible? William was here, not in the music room.

He seemed to realize it at the same time. "Whoops! I forgot to turn it off. I leave it going, a recording, that is, when I want to do some sneaking around," he explained. "It's amazing how much you can learn when people think you are somewhere else.

"Who is that guy, anyway?" he asked Violet. "Did you lock him up?"

"Locked up tight," Violet answered. "And he calls himself Roger Brown. We don't know much about him except that he says he's British and that he has a reputation for charming women. Apparently, they find him irresistible, at first anyway."

"Which means he can get them to do anything he wants and believe anything he says, and that he can do anything he wants to them, like abuse them," Rachel contributed. "I've seen quite a few of those types. Bastards, all of them.

"It was a pleasure to knee him," she added matter-of-factly. "Men like him deserve a good deal of punishment in that area."

"True enough, Rachel," Violet agreed, "but be careful who you say it to. Someone behind you is taking notes."

Laura turned and saw that her audience had grown. Richard was there, busily scribbling on a note pad. He smiled at Rachel. "May I quote you, Madam?"

"In general terms, you can. About this specific man you cannot," she answered. "You'd get me in real trouble."

Laura gave Richard a quelling look and turned to Rachel. "I haven't asked what happened to you after I got abducted at gunpoint. Did someone come after you, too?"

Rachel nodded impishly. "They did. Or rather he did. Another underling, I expect, sent out to do the dirty work."

"Did you knock him out, too?" William asked eagerly.

"No. I was a bit hampered by the baby. It was screaming at the top of its lungs and I suspect the poor fellow couldn't think straight. He just poked a gun at my ribs and told me to drive out of the park. I happily obeyed knowing we would run straight into Violet and her reinforcements, which is exactly what happened."

Lady Longtree moved aside to let another visitor enter. It was the doctor. He took one look at Laura and her audience and threw up his hands in despair. "Young lady, you are an impossible patient. I tell you to stay quietly in bed for a day or two and instead you get chased through a Safari Park by a maniacal stalker, and now I find you surrounded by chattering people. What do you do for a living to merit such unusual attention?"

"I'm a professor," Laura admitted in a chastened voice. "It's usually a very quiet occupation."

"Perhaps we should remove ourselves," Lady Longtree suggested politely. "I shall be back," she added in a stage whisper as she went out the door. William and Richard trailed after her.

The doctor frowned at their departing backs and made a quick examination. He scowled at Rachel. "See that she stays quiet this time. She has an excellent constitution but she's not twenty any more."

"Yes, Doctor," Rachel replied obediently. "I will try. I will certainly try."

"See that you do," the doctor growled, but he sent each of them a charming smile as he hurried through the door.

"Nice man," Laura said drowsily, aware that every muscle in her body ached and her legs felt like lead weights. "I guess the doctor's right and I'm not twenty any more," she grumbled. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be so tired. I've only been sitting here talking."

Rachel raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You are the limit. Of course you are tired. What you did last night took more out of you than you think. So go to sleep again and stop prodding yourself into action."

Gratefully, Laura closed her eyes, but a steady stream of visitors precluded sleep. Mrs. Takara was the most persistent. She kept turning up with packages of biscuits or pieces of fruit - no doubt cadged from the kitchen - to tempt Laura's appetite, which she seemed to assume had been compromised by her experience. Laura finally asked Rachel to warn her so she could feign sleep when Mrs. Takara came to the door. She meant well, but she was as annoying as a mosquito.

After an early lunch the next day, the group returned to Bath, with Alan once more driving. The bus looked pathetically empty. Dr. Bernstein was still being held, and Violet had accompanied a nervous but resigned looking Claudine to the police station for yet another interview. Hans hadn't come back, which left only Laura and Rachel, Lady Longtree, William and the Takaras. No one said much during the trip. It was hard to know what to say. The usual discussion of the weather or the passing countryside sounded ridiculous when everyone's mind was occupied with the case.

Mrs. Takara, who was sitting behind Laura, broke the strained silence. Leaning over the seat, she commented once more on Laura's ordeal, as she insisted on calling it. "That man who came after you was not nice," she said in a subdued tone. "Once, a man like that came after one of my girls. She was so frightened. She was crying and crying for many days. You are very brave, I think."

"How many daughters do you have?" Laura asked politely in an effort to lure Mrs. Takara away from the overworked subject of her escape.

Mrs. Takara uttered her tinkling laugh. "Oh, so many girls come to me for advice it is hard to remember which are my own!" she exclaimed. "They are all my daughters, I tell them." She leaned further forward to whisper into Laura's ear. "I wonder if that man came after Amy too. Perhaps that was why she did such a terrible thing...

"But we must not speak of this. It is too soon, is it not? Still, I cannot help but wonder whether he... well, if he was not nice to her but she could not speak of the attack because she was shamed. It is like that with some of the girls."

Nodding her head sagaciously, Mrs. Takara leaned back against her seat. "Yes, it is so, is it not?" she murmured, apparently to her husband, who didn't reply.

Laura didn't reply either. The idea that Amy had killed herself because she had been raped, which Mrs. Takara seemed to be implying by way of polite euphemisms, sounded ridiculous to her.

Alan was next to break the silence. "Arrangements have been made for all of you to stay at the hotel where we stayed before," he explained. "I hope you will try to enjoy some of the attractions near Bath that we have not yet visited despite... despite what has happened. Elise, our guide in Bath, has offered her services for those who wish to take a guided tour of any kind. As you are aware, she knows the area well."

His voice bore none of its former cheer and there were lines in his face Laura hadn't noticed before. She wondered again what his role was in this case. He didn't seem to be a suspect, since he was driving the bus. Why then had he hired Abdul?

Richard, who came to see her later in the day, had unearthed the answer to that question from one of his many contacts in former investigative days.

"Alan had no reason to suspect him," he explained. "He checked out Abdul's credentials and got excellent recommendations from people purporting to be former employers. Unfortunately for all of us, they were fakes, thanks to Roger Brown, who no doubt has plenty of acquaintances who make fake ID's.

"That was well-planned," Laura mused. "Some of the things that have happened in this case seem opportunistic – acted on at the last minute when the circumstances were right, like my accidents, but others seem impeccably planned and brilliantly executed. It makes me wonder if there's more than one group involved."

"Or they've had to improvise with you getting in their way and Violet on their heels," Richard answered. "Still, I'll try to find out if other groups are competing with the Saudi lot. There's plenty of money to be made selling babies."

"Be careful," Laura warned. "These people really are dangerous."

Richard grinned. "I will. I'm like Lucy, though. Can't resist sniffing.

"Where's your guard?" he added suddenly. "Rachel I mean. And who's that guy outside your door?"

"Rachel is enjoying a well-deserved day off," Laura answered, "and the man outside is my temporary guard. I can't go outside the hotel without an escort until Rachel gets back. It's a nuisance."

"I'm sure you'll be allowed out in another day or two," Richard answered optimistically. "In the meantime, stay put. Someone seems to have quite a grudge against you." He gave her a quick brotherly hug and went whistling out the door.

He returned within a few minutes. "Almost forgot! I just heard that the Swiss guy, Hans, was arrested at the airport. Before he even got to the gate, two policemen grabbed his arms and escorted him to the proverbial waiting car."

With a cheerful wave, he left again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN

Laura sank back on the bed, dumbfounded. Could Hans really be the master mind behind all this? It was hard to believe. She hadn't liked that gloating look on his face, but she hadn't thought of him as a full-fledged criminal!

Another knock on the door brought her to her feet. Maybe it would be Violet, ready to explain. It wasn't. Instead, Claudine stood at the door, looking distraught.

"Sorry," Claudine apologized, attempting the tight-lipped smile Laura had seen before. "I didn't mean to come in here looking upset. I've had a nasty time at the police station. They keep asking the same questions over and over. I hate it. But that's not your problem."

"It sounds awful," Laura agreed sympathetically.

Claudine grimaced. "It is but I've survived worse. I'm more worried about my husband than me. He really did get himself involved in something nasty this time. But that's another story, too.

"How are you by the way? I gather you had a merry chase through the Safari Park. You do seem to have a knack for that sort of thing."

Laura laughed. "I like the description. And I'm fine if a bit tired."

"You're a survivor too," Claudine commented matter-of-factly. "Actually, I came to ask about something else," she went on hesitantly. "It's harder, for me anyway. It's about Richard. I gather you two have seen a lot of each other, so I wanted to check, to see if you...

"Oh really, I can't believe I'm saying these things. Me, the cold-blooded bitch. But I mean it. I'll get out of the way if you're interested in him. So for god's sake say something so I can get off this subject."

Laura smiled at her. "Claudine, all I can say is that I wish you both well and I think it's great. I like Richard very much but not in that way. So he's all yours and for goodness sake start enjoying what you've found together in spite of the mess we all seem to be in."

Claudine's face lit up. "You really mean it, don't you? Richard said it was true but I had to find out for myself."

"I do mean it. So divorce that disaster of a husband of yours and marry him. Or just live with him if that's easier."

Claudine laughed – the first genuine laughter Laura had heard from her. "I can just see it. I'll get the divorce papers in order before I get hauled off to jail while I figure out how long you have to wait to get married again. I wonder what the judge will say."

Laura grinned. One very brave woman, she thought with respect, no matter what she might have done. "I wish he'd say good for you but I doubt he can let his dignity down long enough," she replied. "So I'll say it."

"Thanks. I'll go find Richard then and we'll get busy enjoying ourselves. We might not have long."

Laura frowned. "That sounds ominous."

"Yeah, it is." Claudine sighed. "I did hide the clothes for the damned man, a terrible mistake, but he threatened me with all sorts of stuff if I didn't."

"Abdul?" Laura asked.

Claudine looked surprised. "No, not Abdul. I guess he wore the clothes, but he's not the one who threatened me. That was the guy who stalked you. Ludwig told him to ask me. I didn't want anything to do with him, but I didn't have much choice.

"He's a bastard," she added. "He gets his kicks out of terrifying women and beating them up, but he likes money even more. Oodles of it in the baby stealing game. I don't know who he sells the poor kids to, but I wish I did. I'd try to stop him myself."

"That's courageous," Laura said, impressed at Claudine's determined tone. "He's a very frightening man."

"And smart, or more likely my husband is really dumb. The guy plays him like a violin. That wasn't some psychic up those stairs, you know. Roger Brown arranged an interview, as Ludwig calls them, which means some poor mixed up kid on drugs selling sex to make a few extra bucks – if Ludwig is still capable of participating in that activity, which I doubt.

"He really is a disaster, like you said," she went on in disgust. "Into all that gross stuff with boys but he somehow fools himself into thinking its okay, that the kids like him. It's amazing how he can turn things upside down. The worst part is that he has to pay the guy back, do him favors in return, but I'm damned if I know what they are."

"It must have had something to do with this baby-stealing group," Laura inserted into this fascinating tirade. "Could he have helped them somehow?"

Claudine shook her head. "I've racked my brains to figure it out but I haven't had much luck so far. Maybe they'll get it out of him at the police station. He's terrified, I do know that much. If he knows anything, he'll talk."

"Have you told the police all this?"" Laura asked sharply.

"Sure have. Three times at least." Claudine hesitated. "I think they're getting somewhere. That's my instinct anyway. But for god's sake don't talk about what I've said to anyone else or they'll be after me for that."

"As long as the police know, I'll keep it to myself," Laura promised. "I have one more question though, if you can answer it. I assume you had the clothes \- the disguise worn by whoever pushed me into the street - in your shopping bag and then hid them in the garbage bin, but were you Maisie too, and was that you rummaging through the garbage can the next day?"

"No to the last two and yes to the first," Claudine answered promptly. "I hid the clothes in the rubbish bin before I got back on the bus but that was the last I saw of them. Didn't want to, either – or that garbage bin. Who's Maisie?"

"Just a bag lady who never existed," Laura answered enigmatically.

Claudine's well-arched eyebrows went up. "Right now, I'm not sure I even want to know what that means."

"I'm not sure I do either," Laura admitted, trying not to think of the dead Peg.

Claudine's eyebrows rose further, but she didn't ask more questions. "Thanks for talking to me," she said instead, going to the door. "I didn't mean to go on for so long, but you're the only one I dare talk to, and it's a relief."

"Another quick question," Laura called after her. "Can you remember where you were the night I was in that horrible cellar?"

"Right here in bed," Claudine answered. "Alone, I fear. Sorry."

"Thanks anyway," Laura said. She lay back against the pillows again and tried to get her thoughts in order. To her horror, Mrs. Takara tiptoed through the door after the briefest of knocks. "You are tired, so I will not stay," she began as she perched on a chair. "I came only to make sure you join us tomorrow. We have engaged Elise to show us more of the sights around Bath. She spoke of some caves; they are in the Cheddar Gorge, I think they call it, like the cheese, and she will take us there first. They have very strange names for places, these English."

Laura opened her mouth to frame a polite refusal but Mrs. Takara forestalled her with a raised hand. "It is not good for you to and brood about what happened," she insisted. "No, it is very bad. So I will not take excuses. I will fetch you myself."

"I don't think I will be able to go," Laura protested weakly. "The police want me to stay here and only go out with a police escort."

Mrs. Takara was unmoved. "They will let you come, I am sure of it. That man Hans has been arrested and you are safe now." She nodded her head wisely. "I knew from the beginning that he did not have a good character, but they would not listen to me when I told them. I have talked to the police about why I had to say I pushed you that first time, too, and why I said that it was the stout lady on those stairs."

She leaned over the bed and spoke in a confidential whisper. "The police know those were accidents, that it was not his fault. I do not like to talk of this publicly because my husband is so...

"Well, for men in Japan it is impossible to admit that something is wrong with them and he gets very angry if I speak of it." She stopped and bit her lip uncertainly, as if as if fearful of being overheard even in here.

"Speak of what?" Laura asked, wondering what all this was about.

Reluctantly, Mrs. Takara complied. "He has this dizziness sometimes, you see, and he stumbles. I try to be closest to him so I can catch him but I cannot always move fast enough. It was the steep stairs. They made him... what is the word? Disoriented perhaps? That is when it happens. He stumbles and cannot right himself, and then if he falls... well, he cannot stop. It is a disease some people get of balance, but I do not know the name in English.

"I try to save him from the embarrassment," she went on with pathetic dignity. "That is the proper duty of a wife in my country. She must not let a man lose face. All the family suffers then.

"But we will not speak of this any more. You must rest. Do not worry. I will fix everything for you tomorrow. Sleep well!" She hustled out of the room again before Laura had another chance to open her mouth.

She lay back on the pillow, her mind whirling. Too many revelations, too fast. Sleep was what she needed. Pushing all thoughts of the case out of her mind, Laura managed to fall into a light doze that lasted until the next knock on her door.

This time, thankfully, it was Violet, once more bearing tea. "I don't think I have ever in my life drunk so much of this stuff," she complained as she set the tray down. "You always seem to need it so badly."

"I do now. My head is positively swimming in confusion," Laura told her. "Besides, I adore the service. It comes even before I have to ask."

"I shall add to the confusion," Violet said with a grin. "Roger Brown actually divulged some information. I want you to know what he said for your own protection but do not, and I mean not, allow what I say to affect your treatment of the person in question."

"I'll do my very best," Laura promised. "What did he say?"

"He said that he was once married to Claudine and that she took him for all he was worth," Violet stated. "That's why he began selling babies, to recoup. He seemed very bitter about it. I don't think many women get the best of Roger.

"He used another name then," she added. "That's why we didn't know before."

Laura gaped at her. "Claudine? But she told me she married Dr. Bernstein to get away from being a cocktail waitress. And she was just here, saying..."

Violet interrupted. "Claudine is a master at saying whatever works best in a given situation. I suspect Roger Brown rescued her from the cocktail job – if his attentions can be construed as a rescue, and she married Ludwig to get away from Roger Brown. In the meantime, she liberated Roger from his money. She's a very clever lady."

"I guess this puts her at the top of the list as possible master criminal," Laura agreed glumly. "She certainly had me fooled. I really admired her. She doesn't have much of an alibi for the time I heard the icy lady, either. In bed alone, she says."

"I checked out her statement and no one saw her leave, but that doesn't mean she didn't," Violet said. "And I admire her too, but she could still be guilty. She could have teamed up again with Roger, so I want you on your guard."

"I will be," Laura agreed. "But if you think Claudine could be the culprit, why was Hans arrested?

"Who told you that?" Violet asked sharply.

"Richard. I guess he got it from his London friends."

Violet sighed heavily. "Damn that reporter! And those clods of policemen. They were supposed to be discreet." She hesitated. "All I can say at the moment is that Hans is helping the police with their investigation. And for goodness sake, don't talk about it in front of anyone else."

"All right," Laura agreed. "I won't talk. But as soon as you can tell me what's going on and why you think Hans is implicated, please do."

Violet nodded. "I will. I don't think it will be long now."

Her tone changed. "I'm going to leave you to have a nice long shower, which you seem to adore almost as much as tea," she pronounced, "and then we're going to have a walk and some dinner. I need to clear my mind and I imagine you do too."

"I've begun to wonder if I have a mind to clear," Laura replied. "I think that crack on the head must have affected it more than I realized."

"Not unusual with a concussion to feel fuzzy for a while," Violet assured her. "Besides, you haven't had a break ever since."

"I slept for almost two days," Laura pointed out.

"With multiple interruptions and lots of mental stimulation," Violet rejoined, "as well as a hair-raising escape from that ghastly man."

"True," Laura agreed. "I do hope nothing more happens today. I'm not sure I could handle it."

"With you around," Violet retorted, "that cannot be guaranteed."

About half and hour later, Violet reappeared and escorted Laura downstairs. Lady Longtree, who had decided to join them, was waiting in the hotel lobby. The limp she had affected earlier had disappeared, and her pace when they set off was so brisk Laura had trouble keeping up.

"Shall we try this bistro?" Violet suggested after they had walked for about half an hour. She indicated a small ethnic restaurant up the street.

"It looks very pleasant," Lady Longtree replied, "and more interesting than those big establishments near the Baths."

"Less expensive, too," Laura pointed out. "I think it's a great idea. This is the area where the baby's mother vanished, so we might even overhear some more clues."

"It seems to me we have an overabundance of them," Violet replied humorously. "I'm having trouble integrating them as it is."

The dim interior of the restaurant made Laura think of Casablanca, the sultry, mysterious look on Lauren Bacall's face, and Humphrey Bogart's seductively twisted smile. Those two would feel at home here. The air wasn't as smoky, but the bistro had the same atmosphere, the same look of shabby sophistication that characterized so many ethnic restaurants. Always candles or some kind of dim lighting, and carelessly laid tables that nonetheless displayed gleaming white linens.

They were ushered to a table near the back. There were a few curious stares as they walked by, probably because they were women unaccompanied by men, but after that no one paid much attention to them.

Laura looked around with unfeigned interest. The people at the tables around them were a mixed group, some pale skinned and English-looking, others with darker faces and middle-eastern dress. Most were men, but she saw quite a few women, too. Some wore headscarves, others had uncovered hair, and all of them were engaged in intense and absorbing discussions.

This was a place where thinkers gathered and people argued freely, where social policy was debated and political decisions might even be made, Laura mused, and felt her senses quicken. Eyes, ears and nostrils were deluged - by the titillating scents emanating from the kitchen, by the flickering light that shadowed faces of every color and the muted medley of tongues that made her realize how marvelously diverse the world really was. She soaked it all in, glad she was here. The food, when it arrived, was equally spicy and satisfying, and so was the pleasant if slightly green wine that came with it.

When they had finished and paid the bill, they decided to walk at least part of the way back to the hotel.

"It will settle our stomachs after all that spicy food as well as clearing our brains," Violet remarked.

"Mine just feels heavier than ever," Laura complained.

"A brisk walk cures all ills," Lady Longtree said judiciously, but Laura saw that her blue eyes were twinkling. The food, or perhaps it was the wine, had lightened all their moods. The worry lines had left Violet's face, and Lady Longtree looked more relaxed.

They were about half way back to the hotel when a van slid up beside them. To Laura's dismay, two large men emerged from the van and approached them. She braced herself. Was she going to be abducted all over again?

The men came close, too close it seemed to Laura. "You will come with us," one of them said in stilted English. It wasn't a question; it was a command. Oddly, though, he didn't look threatening, only determined.

The other man gestured toward the van. "It would be better if you came quietly," he said in the same stilted English.

"The Lady wishes to see you," the first man added. Laura saw Violet and Lady Longtree exchange a guarded glance.

"Hurry," the man urged. "You must hurry." He sounded almost desperate, and Laura frowned. What kind of abduction was this?

Violet hesitated for a moment and then nodded. The two men herded them gently but definitely toward the van, as if making sure none of them tried to escape. At least she didn't feel a gun at her back, Laura thought. That was an improvement.

"Sorry to involve you," Violet murmured to Laura. "I think they want all of us."

"The Lady wishes to see all of you," the man behind Laura confirmed.

Numbly, she followed the others to the van. The only lady she could think of besides Lady Longtree was the icy lady she had heard in the cellar. She hadn't liked the sound of her voice and she had no desire to meet her. Terror swept through her and then dissipated. Violet didn't look frightened or even alarmed, nor did Lady Longtree. Instead she looked as if she had suddenly frozen. Her face was deathly pale, her expression one of mixed dread and anticipation. What was going on?

The seats in the van had been rearranged so that they faced each other across a small space. Laura paused in surprise as she stepped in. A woman swathed all in black sat on one of the seats. A chador, the Muslim head scarf that hid the face completely except for a small rectangle of woven fabric that permitted the wearer to see, covered her head. Her eyes were downcast.

Violet took the seat beside the veiled woman, Lady Longtree sat opposite her and Laura sat down beside Lady Longtree.

The two men climbed into the front seats and the van slid away from the curb. The windows had been darkened, Laura saw, and began to be frightened again. The icy lady could easily be hiding under that chador.

She looked at the other two in alarm. Violet was watching Lady Longtree and her face held an expression Laura couldn't define, except that she thought it was something between pity and apprehension.

She turned toward Lady Longtree, wondering if she knew what was going on and saw that she still wore that frozen look. Surprisingly though, it wasn't dread on her face now as much as... as what? Hope?

The woman across from them raised her face and looked directly at Lady Longtree. Her eyes weren't dark as Laura had expected, but bright blue. They were misted with tears.

And then, suddenly, Lady Longtree's face crumpled. "Maria," she whispered. "Maria, is it really you?"
CHAPTER TWENTY

"Oui, Maman, c'est moi," the woman whispered, holding out a tentative hand. Then her restraint slid away, and she leaned over and clasped Lady Longtree in her arms. Laura felt tears slide down her face. This must be the lost granddaughter, the one who had married so young and disappeared, had been thought dead.

As ever, there were more facets to the old lady than a chameleon, she reflected. Who could ever have imagined her weeping unrestrainedly?

"William!" Maria whispered suddenly. "Is William really all right? I see the reviews but now he seems not to be playing..."

As if aware of their Lady's need for privacy, the men in the front seat turned on a radio. "Merci," she called to them in an almost steady voice.

"William is all right," Lady Longtree assured her quickly. "He misses you and is desperate to find you but he doesn't believe you are dead. He said he would know if you were. He isn't playing because... well, he became distracted when we decided to try to find you ourselves. Oh, Maria, I have been so afraid..."

Maria's face was tragic. "I am so terribly sorry I couldn't contact you before. So many people might have suffered, even been killed, but it was hard to wait, knowing how anxious you were. And then they told me, my fine helpers up there, that you were in the restaurant with only the two others and it was suddenly right, an opportunity sent by heaven if there is one in this terrible world."

Lady Longtree raised her wet eyes to Violet's face. "Heaven sent or Violet arranged?" she asked skeptically.

"A little of both," Violet admitted modestly. "I had information that the restaurant was a place where people from many countries gathered and where news of our presence might spread. I thought if we went there a few times, word would get around, if what I hoped was true. I certainly didn't expect such a fast response."

Lady Longtree's eyes were suddenly suspicious. "But did you know all along that she was alive and not tell me?"

Violet stared at her, appalled. "Good heavens, no. You mustn't think that! I thought she could be alive, from evidence we had collected but I had no idea if I was right until I saw... Well, I saw that you knew who she was."

Maria looked about to weep again but stopped herself quickly. Abruptly, she pulled off the chador and threw it on the floor with a disdainful gesture, revealing a mop of short dark curls and a heart-shaped face with an exceedingly determined chin. She made Laura think of a very young Lady Longtree.

Then she noticed the jagged scar on one cheek. Lady Longtree saw it too and gasped. "Who did that to you?" she demanded, sounding ready to tackle the guilty person without delay.

"My father in law's second wife," Maria said blandly. "That is, I suspect she talked one of her sister's sons into doing it. An accident of course.

"Not Hassan, if that's what you are thinking."

Lady Longtree shook her head. "No. I never thought that of him. Now, tell us where you have been and what has happened."

"Yes. We must be sensible and talk." Maria gestured toward the front of the van. "The men know very little about me except what I am in this country to do. It is best if they don't know who my relatives are. We never know when one of them might be taken by someone who wants to do us harm."

Lady Longtree nodded. "But does that mean you will leave again?" Her face was suddenly agonized.

"No, Maman, it does not," Maria stated firmly. "I have no plans to leave. There is too much work to be done here, to help the women, the girl babies. I must tell you all about it but first, I need to know if everyone is all right. How is Grandmere?"

Lady Longtree sighed with relief. "Grandmere is fine," she replied. "Mais je suis Grandmere maintenant," she added with an unexpected chuckle. "C'est une jolie disguise, n'est-ce-pas? J'aime beaucoup les chapeaus magnifique! Aussi le parasol." She brandished that object discreetly, while pointing to her hat, this one a less flamboyant affair in deep blue.

Maria burst into laughter. "Superb," she exclaimed. "How like you to think of that, Maman. Better than this ghastly thing," she added, pointing to the discarded chador. "Still, it's a great way to avoid being seen.

"Some women I know wear it by choice when they go out," she added. "They say it protects them, but what I want to fix is the fact that they have to be protected in the first place. There's a long way to go." She shrugged philosophically.

"Now, on to business. We don't have much time."

She turned to Laura. "You have been a great help to us, and all of us wish to extend our thanks."

Laura stared at her in surprise. "I have? But what did I do?"

"You rescued two of our babies," Maria explained. "From our competitors, if I can dignify the people involved with that name. We are very grateful.

"In addition, we are aware of your research, and that has been an enormous help. We give your articles to potential contributors to bring them up to date on what is really happening to women and girls in Muslim countries. Every voice we can use on behalf of our cause makes a difference. Money is important, too, and your articles often convince people to help us financially."

"I am grateful to you, too," she said, addressing Violet this time. "I have heard about why you are here and I believe we must exchange information. I will tell you what I am here to do first and why, beginning with a brief history of my time in Saudi Arabia. Then I would like to hear your part in this effort."

Laura was impressed. Maria sounded as efficient and organized as Lady Longtree at her best, not at her vaguest.

"I left for Saudi Arabia with my husband, Hassan, four years ago," Maria began. "We were very happy at first, but then I began to realize that his relatives were plotting against me. They are conservative people who live by the old traditions. They don't countenance women's participation in political affairs, and as you know, Maman, I was always political. They tried to enforce their ways on me, telling me I must not go outside without a male escort and all the rest of it, but I resisted. Hassan supported me so there was little they could do, overtly at any rate.

"Then I became pregnant. I thought at first they would be pleased but instead they were more threatened. They didn't want a woman like me to bear Hassan's son, the man who would one day take his place and the place of his father. And so they went on a campaign to discredit me and even to make me ugly." She pointed to the scar. "The baby was a girl - yes, Maman, little Olivia is alive and well, and I hope you will see her soon. I thought the fact that she wasn't a boy would relieve their minds. It didn't. What they saw was that Hassan still..."

Her voice broke but she went on quickly with a determined thrust of her chin. "They saw that Hassan still loved me and that I would probably have more of his children. They had another wife picked out for Hassan from the beginning, and were angry because he defied them by marrying me. They pressed him to take this woman as his second wife, perhaps hoping she would be the first to bear a son. He refused, which cost them a lot of face. Then, and this was what drove me away, they began to try to influence my daughter, to instruct her on the proper role for a woman. They even planned for her to be..."

Maria's composure broke again and she looked down at the floor until she had controlled her voice. "They were going to circumcise her," she whispered, "to do it when Hassan and I were away on a trip together. I only learned of it because my maid spoke of it to one of the other maids and I overheard. It was just chance that I found out, that it wasn't done..."

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again Laura saw that they were as hard and unforgiving as Lady Longtree's eyes could be. "I knew then that I had to leave, and take my daughter with me," Maria said flatly. "Hassan agreed, and he helped me to plan it. So did two of his brothers. The others are loyal to – or afraid of - their father, who is an obsessive tyrant.

"And so I left. I think Hassan will follow but I cannot tell. He is the oldest son and he is torn. He believes that his family and all the families who still live by the old ways - the subservience of woman, the unthinking loyalty to corrupt politicians and the terrible treatment of the poor - must change, and that he must lead the way. Many people in the country support his ideas, so perhaps Hassan can help to bring about change if he stays. I don't know. I will wait. He knows, though, that I won't come back."

Maria stopped. Her eyes were tragic again, but she didn't allow herself to sink into self-pity. "He knows, too, how much of the mutilation still goes on in these old families. Some of them still believe that a woman's character will be destroyed if she experiences sensual pleasure."

She shook her head in exasperation. "I thought the Adam and Eve story was bad enough, but what some of those so-called aristocrats have to say about women's inherently evil nature puts Eve to shame."

Maria laughed shakily. "So you see, Maman, I haven't changed very much. "She leads with her chin," Grandmere always used to say. "When she sticks it too far out, she gets in trouble."

Lady Longtree regarded her fondly. "No, you haven't changed. But your life certainly has."

"In some ways," Maria agreed. "In others, it is the same. I always did want to right the wrongs I saw around me, and I still do. That is the reason I am here now. I can provide information about the organization I believe Violet is investigating. You must know its purpose and its origins if you are to fight it. Briefly, my father-in-law and his friends created this appalling plan, and they started it because of me. That is why I must stop them."

Violet sat up straight. "Thank you," she said fervently. "That is information I badly needed. But why do you say they started it because of you?"

"My husband's family was mortified by my rejection of their ways, and by my disappearance," Maria explained. "It was like a slap in the face. The family honor had been sullied, and action had to be taken to prevent such betrayals in the future. So my father-in-law and a few other wealthy and powerful men – I cannot emphasize too much how rich and powerful they are - decided to make sure that a suitable pool of women was available for their other sons and the sons of those sons.

Her voice hardened. "And so they decided to buy girl babies of Muslim origin in the U.K. and elsewhere, have them circumcised, and then raise them in their own households to become proper wives for their sons in the future. There would be no contaminating outside influences, no reason for rejection of the old ways."

"That explains all the money flowing in to the organization," Lady Longtree said with satisfaction. "Thank you, my dear."

"There is no shortage of cash," Maria agreed grimly. "These wealthy men don't do the hard work themselves, of course, but they know who to hire. To lead their organization they selected an individual who has successfully run a number of illegal businesses for many years without getting caught. To this day, no one but them knows who the person is. He or she hired agents to seek out immigrant Muslim parents and convince them that their daughters will have glorious lives as the wives of important men if they are sold to the rich families who wish to adopt them. Young women who become pregnant out of wedlock are favorite targets. Their gratitude when they find someone willing to help with no questions asked, and a good life for the child, too, is pathetic."

Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "What they don't know is that the girls become virtual slaves to their husbands and prisoners in his household. Should they object to their role they are cruelly punished or even killed by a member of the family or a servant. Most are married and subjected to intercourse at seven or eight years of age, a practice which is thought to make them more pliable. They are there to produce sons; if they do not, they are discarded."

"What happens to them?" Laura asked.

"If they are lucky they become unpaid servants, if they are not they are put out into the street. You can imagine what happens after that."

"A horrible fate either way," Laura said soberly. "You'd think word would get around among the parents that it's not such a good deal."

Maria shook her head. "The trouble is that word doesn't get around. The agents make it clear that parents better not talk. A few who did have disappeared. Besides, for some of these families, it is a good deal. Money for them – though it is only a pittance compared to what the agents take - and what sounds like a life of luxury for daughters who would otherwise have a bleak future. As an added incentive, the parents get a free holiday until questions die down, so inquisitive souls like you three can't get at them."

Laura almost laughed. When the girl on the bicycle had told them that, she had dismissed the assertion as wishful thinking. Now it seemed the child was correct.

Maria looked at her watch. "Time is short. To sum up, it is extremely difficult to penetrate the organization. These people don't hesitate to kill - even each other. The agents are well-paid, but they know that disloyalty or betrayal brings death. They dare not name their leader if they are caught, as you may have discovered."

"We have," Violet agreed.

Maria nodded, and a fiery gleam came into her blue eyes. "To fight them is also dangerous," she said. "Very dangerous. We do it anyway."

"How?" Violet asked bluntly.

"We talk to families we believe have been contacted because of pregnancy or a new daughter, and give them another option, one that involves not money but choice. We explain what the organization will really do to their daughter; if they agree, we help them to raise her, or even raise her ourselves. I have opened a safe house for the children where they will be well cared for, and grow up to be self-sufficient. We also take women who want to get away from abusive husbands and teach them job skills so they don't have to rely on anyone else unless they choose to."

"The mother of the first baby I found is abused by her husband," Laura inserted quickly. "Maybe you could contact her."

Maria smiled mischievously. "We already have. I imagine her husband is livid."

"What if the parents you contact have already agreed to sell their daughter to one of the agents?" Violet asked.

"Then we try to intercept the baby before it is taken overseas," Maria answered. "We also spread the word that the agent is double-dealing by stealing the baby back to get extra money, and hope he gets caught."

"Clever!" Lady Longtree said appreciatively.

Maria looked pleased. "We think it will work because we believe one agent here really has been double dealing. He re-steals the child himself and tries to get money from his employers for her return. Blackmailing them is an even more dangerous business, I should say. I imagine he won't last long."

"No wonder the picture seems so confusing," Laura lamented.

"It is," Maria agreed. "I intend to change that and put them all out of business except for us," she added defiantly. "The difficulty is that there is never enough money, not nearly enough. Hassan helps as much as he can. That family is rich enough, heaven knows. If only I could find a way to tap it..."

She broke off, frowning, and Laura had the distinct impression that if such a thing was possible, Maria would find a way to do it – if she lived long enough. With such a powerful group trying to silence her, that couldn't be assured.

She would be a great deal safer, Laura mused, if they could put this organization out of business, but that couldn't happen until they knew the identity of the person who ran it for Maria's wealthy relatives.

"The icy woman," she murmured, and Maria looked up sharply.

"A woman I overheard when I was locked in a cellar," Laura explained. "She sounded like the sort of woman who could run an operation like that - as cold as ice and as hard as steel."

"Laura has a lot of adventures," Violet said dryly. "She is actually an innocent tourist who came on the tour to see the sights, but the criminals clearly don't believe that. Four attacks on her so far I believe, or is it five?"

"I didn't mean to get involved," Laura protested. "But I'm glad I am, now that I know what it's about. The point is: what are we going to do next? We have to know who runs their organization if we're going to put it out of business. The powerful men in Saudi Arabia probably can't be prosecuted, but the man or woman in charge of it can. That's where we've got to start."

Violet regarded her skeptically. "I agree, but I'm damned if I know how we are going to tease that individual out of the background, and as Maria says, the criminals we've caught aren't talking."

"Set a trap for the person, using me as bait," Laura suggested. "If we let them take me, I have a good chance of finding out for myself who is in charge."

Maria looked at her admiringly. "Brave, but simple, too. Let's see, we could..."

"Just a minute," Violet interrupted firmly. "Laura is under my protection and she is not going to be paraded like a tethered goat for sacrifice."

"It needn't be that bad, Violet," Laura objected. "You could have all your people watching nearby and they could grab the person before any harm is done."

"I appreciate your faith in us," Violet said wryly, "but no. Besides, there is no reason I can't be the bait instead."

"Or me." Lady Longtree's voice was eager. "I can't think they like me very well either, and I would love to get a crack at them."

Maria smiled at her. "That sounds like you. But from what you say about the attacks on Laura, someone has a specific grudge against her. That's not unusual for these people, especially if it is a woman who has threatened them. I also suspect that they think she knows something the rest of you don't know – maybe the identity of the leader, or something else incriminating about the organization - and is therefore more dangerous. After all, they don't seem to be attacking either of you."

"You have a point," Violet conceded, "but I still can't let Laura be bait."

"Let's think about it," Maria said diplomatically. She glanced at her watch again. "Time is almost up and I need to know what you have done."

Violet nodded. "All right. Briefly, I am a special investigator who takes cases involving children. I was employed to find out why and by whom babies were being taken from hospitals and prams, and left in tourist attractions to be picked up by couriers – unless Laura gets there first," she inserted with a grin.

"We discovered that one of these groups was operating in this area. An associate who has worked in the travel business agreed to help by running a tour. We recruited people who wanted to work with us, including Olivia and a colleague who is head of a children's relief agency in Zurich, and sent out tempting brochures that offered special prices for people we thought might be involved. These included Amy, the nurse who was killed; her friend Margaret and a psychiatrist who prescribed medications for the babies - both being held for questioning, and the psychiatrist's wife, who may be associated with another suspect, Roger Brown, now in custody. We also got Laura, an extra so to speak, who turned out to be quite valuable but difficult to guard. Impossible, in fact.

"Most accepted, some innocently I imagine, others we hope because the tour provided excellent cover for their need to be in the area anyway, to make contact with their agents. We hope to get more information from the ones now in custody."

"So that's how everyone got here!" Laura was astonished, but Violet gave her no time to think about it. She went on to explain what they had accomplished, and what they still needed to know. By the time she had finished it was almost dark outside.

"Ah. I understand a great deal more now," Maria said. "But we are almost back and the men are anxious. They have taken a great risk to bring me here."

As if to confirm her statement the radio was turned off and one of the men spoke. "We are in Bath again. We have no more time."

"Yes, thank you," Maria replied. "We will finish now."

For a moment her face was agonized as she looked at Lady Longtree, then she pressed her lips firmly together. "We must not weep again," she said. "It is not safe here to show that we are... Well, we must not."

Leaning down, she reached for the chador, and Laura saw that her hand was shaking. Lady Longtree took it firmly in her own hand. "We will be together again soon, Maria," she said with complete confidence. "No one would dare to stop the two of us once we make up our minds."

Maria nodded, equally controlled now. "I will set up another meeting as soon as possible," she agreed. "We have much business still to discuss."

The van stopped then and the door slid open. Laura managed to smile at Maria before she climbed out, as did Violet. Lady Longtree looked for a moment as if her composure would crack but she quickly mastered her emotions. She did permit herself a quick look back, however, before the van door slid closed again.

Maria raised her hand in a salute and then she disappeared.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Violet took Lady Longtree's arm. "I think a stiff drink is in order." She led them into a bar, not a local one this time but a place frequented by tourists.

Lady Longtree sat down with a thump. "That was rather stressful," she said weakly. "Wonderful but... but hard. I must find William."

"In due course," Violet replied. "You need a bit of time to recover first. It isn't every day one reclaims a long lost daughter. Grand-daughter I mean."

Laura stared at Lady Longtree in stupefaction. "Of course! How could I have been that stupid? Oh for goodness sake," she went on in disgust, "is everyone in England an accomplished actor? All this time I really did think that you were..."

"It's all that grounding in Shakespeare," Lady Longtree interrupted, looking pleased at Laura's astonishment.

Laura smiled. Her belated awakening to the old lady's real identity had at least diluted the shock of finding Maria. Except, of course, that Lady Longtree wasn't an old lady. She wasn't even Lady Longtree.

"Thank you, my dear," Lady Longtree added. "It cheered me up immensely to see your astounded face. I must have been quite convincing."

"You were," Laura agreed. "Now that I think about it though, you've been gradually morphing from Lady Longtree to Olivia for some time now – if your name really is Olivia. I just didn't see it. I guess I've been distracted."

"I suppose I was too. My dedication to the role was slipping. And yes, my name actually is Olivia. So is my mother's. I broke the succession with Maria. She seems to have started it again."

"Odd," Laura commented. "I never could call you Olivia when you were Lady Longtree. It just didn't come out."

"Quite a few people had that trouble, I noticed," Lady Longtree/Olivia answered. "So I must have been a bit daunting. My mother certainly is."

Violet intervened. "Best to continue using Lady Longtree," she cautioned Laura, keeping her voice low. "I am sorry to bring it all back after that amusing interlude but it remains necessary to be on our guard. As they say, the walls have ears."

She leaned close to Laura and spoke very quietly. "No one must know who Olivia is, in or out of the tour. That is important. She is too well-known. So do not change the way you look at her, think of her or address her. A slip of the tongue on my part, I fear. I must not do it again. Or you."

Laura nodded and tried to rearrange her face to its former expression. Violet and Lady Longtree laughed and after a moment Laura joined in.

"I guess my face shows everything. I'll try my best, though."

"That's exactly it," Lady Longtree answered with another laugh. "The effort shows too. But you'll get it right again in no time," she went on with assurance. "I must simply act my part properly and all will be well.

"At any rate, I do feel better after that drink, and the light-hearted discussion. So thank you, both of you. And now, back to work." She stood resolutely, leaning once more on her trusty umbrella, and walked slowly out the door.

Laura set her jaw determinedly. If this case didn't get resolved soon, she really would put herself out as bait, making sure first that help was close at hand.

Sleep didn't come easily that night, and what there was of it was short. The phone rang at the ungodly hour of six-thirty. Laura grabbed it irritably.

It was the desk clerk, sounding apologetic, telling her that Rachel wanted to meet her in the lobby at seven. Laura remembered that Rachel came back on duty today, and was meeting Violet for breakfast to catch up. Probably they wanted her to join them. She had a fast shower, put on some clothes and went down to the lobby.

To her dismay, Mrs. Takara ran to her in an ecstasy of delight. "I am so very pleased you can come after all!" she exclaimed, taking Laura's arm. "I knew it would be all right, that they would not mind.

"We must start early, Elise said," she went on confidentially. "There is so much to see. We will have breakfast at a place she knows, and then go to the gorge. We will have the whole day. Is that not wonderful? But we must hurry. The car will come at any moment. Truly, I am so pleased..."

The chatter went on and on as Mrs. Takara pulled Laura toward the door and hustled her outside. Laura tried to remonstrate, but Mrs. Takara paid no attention. Laura began to wonder if she had misheard the message and the desk clerk had said she was to meet Mrs. Takara, not Rachel, at seven.

Finally, she came to a halt on the sidewalk outside, feeling like a balky mule. "Wait!" she said loudly. "I must explain. I am here to meet Rachel and Violet, and I don't know if I have permission to go. I can't come until I ask them."

An expression of abject disappointment came over Mrs. Takara's face. "Oh but surely that is not right," she said tearfully. "I was told... they said..."

She didn't finish her sentence. A tall man charged between them at full speed, knocking Mrs. Takara off her feet. She sat down with a thump, looking astonished.

Laura leaned down to help her up but then she saw that the tall man had a knife in his hand and was pointing it at her. The father, she realized with horror. She couldn't be wrong, not with those eyes. They were full of menace.

Pulling her in front of him, he forced her to walk ahead of him down the street. "Do not struggle, do not speak or you will die," he grunted. "She will die, too." He pointed back at a terrified-looking Mrs. Takara. Laura saw that a second man was standing over the diminutive woman. He, too, had a knife.

Petrified, Laura obeyed. Her assailant's hand, and the knife it held, pressed into her back; with his other hand, he grasped her arm tightly.

She tried desperately to think. Surely, someone had seen them and would help her. But who? This was a quiet street; she had seen no one near the hotel, and few people were out at this early hour. Both she and Mrs. Takara could be dead before anyone realized they needed help.

The man prodded her, urging her to walk faster. Laura stumbled instead. He jerked her upright, and she squealed in pain.

"Quiet!" he hissed. Laura swallowed hard to suppress another yelp. He was holding her arm so tightly it had gone numb.

They were heading for the street where she had first seen him, she realized. He must be planning to take her into his house to question her, torture her...

Stop, Laura told herself. Don't think about that. Stay alert. An opportunity will come. It always comes. Be ready.

And just as she had almost given up hope of rescue, it did, in the form of Lady Longtree walking briskly along the sidewalk toward them, umbrella in hand. Not daring to speak, Laura flashed a frantic message for help with her eyes.

"Good morning, my dear," Lady Longtree said placidly as she came up to them. "I had trouble sleeping so I came out for an early walk. It is a lovely morning, is it not?

"Could you introduce me to your new friend?" She smiled ingratiatingly at Laura's abductor.

"This is the father of the baby, the one we found in the Baths. I'm not sure of his name," Laura gabbled. "He met me outside the hotel, with Mrs. Takara."

"Enough," the man said gruffly, pushing her forward. "We must go." He had hidden the knife, she saw, but she still felt it on her back.

"I shall see you soon, Laura," Lady Longtree said cheerfully. "I believe Violet will be along soon too. I'll let her know I have seen you right away."

Relief flooded through Laura. Lady Longtree had understood, would set a rescue in motion. She had only to wait – and to stay alive.

"In here," the man ordered, pointing with his head to a dark alley between two narrow streets. Terrified anew, Laura balked. She might not have any more time, at least not enough time to wait for Lady Longtree to get help.

The man swore viciously when she stopped. Raising the knife, he held it at her throat. The gesture was too much for Laura and she screamed.

His reaction was unexpected. "No noise," he hissed again, taking the knife away for a second and brandishing it fiercely. "No noise or I will slice..."

Laura didn't give him a chance to finish. Sensing that he was off guard, she wrenched her arm away, gave him a hard shove with both fists, and ran as fast as she could. He sprinted after her, even faster. He would catch up with her in moments.

A big truck was parked beside the curb. Laura ducked behind it and plunged across the street, narrowly avoiding a collision with a car. The man's footsteps ceased as he waited for a line of cars to pass, giving her a brief lead.

Heart pounding, Laura ran on. Where could she go?

The Abbey came into view. Maybe she could find a place to hide in there, or maybe a priest would help her. She plunged through the door at a run.

A cleaning woman dusting the pews looked up at her in surprise. "The Abbey is not open yet," she said politely in heavily accented English.

"Please," Laura gasped. "Please, you must help me. A man with a knife is after me. He wants to kill me..."

She broke off in astonishment. The cleaning woman was baby's mother. It seemed impossible. "I think he is your... your husband," she stammered.

The thudding footsteps were audible outside the Abbey. "Please," Laura begged. "He has a knife."

Fear flooded the woman's face. She stared at Laura for a moment and then seemed to make up her mind. "Come," she said, pulling Laura to the side of the altar. "Go down there. I will put the grate back after you. He will not be able to get to you." She pointed toward the small hole beneath the grate Laura had noticed on her earlier visit to the church.

Kneeling quickly, the woman removed the grate and shoved it aside. Laura hesitated, appalled. It was only a tiny hole and there might be rats, spiders certainly, and the sides would press in on her and she might never be able to get out again...

"Quick, he is coming. You must," the woman urged. She was right. The father had reached the door of the Abbey.

Reluctantly, Laura lowered her body into the hole and crouched down as far as she could. Cobwebs caught at her face, and the earth pressed in all around her, cold and damp. The smell of mustiness was overwhelming. She couldn't breathe...

She heard the grate slide into place above her and the muted click of a key being turned in a lock. The woman's footsteps darted away. Laura tried not to scream. Had the woman locked her in this hole for her maniac husband to find? Oh God, had she been locked in here like a sacrificial victim?

The man's heavy footsteps were close now. Laura heard him scuffle his feet uncertainly, then he was still. She dared to peer out. He was there, next to the grating, searching the interior of the Abbey with narrowed eyes. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp of fear that was about to come out.

Her assailant stiffened. Had he heard that tiny noise? He peered around the altar and then, suddenly, he knelt. The green eyes stared down at her.

Terror paralyzed Laura. She was trapped... trapped...

Triumph filled the man's face. He yanked hard at the grating. It didn't budge. Swearing, he pulled at it viciously; then he grabbed what Laura saw was a padlock and tried to wrench it off. Sobbing with fright, she pushed further into the hole, but it was too tight... There was nowhere to go, and he would have the grate off soon...

Another sound came, right over her head, a sound so sudden and unexpected that Laura jumped, hitting her head on the grill.

"En garde!" a voice proclaimed loudly into the silence.

Laura's eyes widened with shock. Lady Longtree's voice! Her feet, neatly shod in their small brown boots, were visible on one side of the grating. She appeared to be brandishing her umbrella fiercely.

"En garde!" Lady Longtree repeated in ringing tones that reverberated through the Abbey. The man didn't move. Too astounded, Laura thought hysterically. She was too. Did Lady Longtree mean to take on this maniac all by herself with her umbrella?

Apparently she did. Recovering quickly, the man ran at her, slashing with his knife. The umbrella smacked his arm. He took a few steps back and tried again. The small boots began to dance and Laura watched them in stupefied fascination. They lunged forward, stepped nimbly to one side as her opponent charged, then lunged again. The man was breathing heavily now, but he was getting closer to Lady Longtree. She couldn't keep him away much longer.

Another voice came, a voice full of authority. "Drop the knife. Now! You are surrounded."

The man froze. Lady Longtree took advantage of his stillness. Umbrella held before her like a dagger, she lunged at him. He let out a yelp; then he turned and ran. Lady Longtree followed. Laura heard a dull thwack, a muttered curse, and then the sound of his feet sprinting the other way. Again, Lady Longtree's feet followed; so did another of those dull thwacks. Could that possibly be Lady Longtree's umbrella hitting him over the head?

Laura pressed her face to the grating, wanting desperately to see what was happening and even more desperately to get out of this hideous hole. The tears came again, interspersed with a choking feeling in her throat that she recognized as hysterical laughter. She mustn't let herself get hysterical.

She heard more running footsteps, heavy ones. Policemen's boots? There was a prolonged scuffle not too far away. A gruff voice spoke: "Don't be a fool. Drop the knife. It will go hard with you if you stab one of my lads."

A further scuffle with lots of cursing and heavy breathing came next. A loud thud followed. "Got him," someone said, sounding out of breath. Laura heard a sharp click this time. Handcuffs, she hoped fervently, and tried not to cry again.

"All right, lads, take the joker away. Keep close to him, mind you. He's a wild one, a fighter. Watch him.

"Take Johnny up to the surgery. Knife got him on the arm."

"Yes sir." More feet moved away and the voices stopped. An eerie silence followed. Laura panicked. Had they forgotten her? She pulled frantically at the grating. "Help me!" she cried. "Don't leave me here!"

"We wouldn't do that." Violet's voice now, her footsteps coming closer. She peered down at Laura. "Are you all right?"

"He didn't slash me if that's what you mean, but I'm not all right," Laura answered testily. "It's horrible in here."

"That's a relief." Violet examined the grating. "We might need an ironmonger, though - a locksmith that is, to get you out. We can't seem to find the person who has the key. How did you manage to get padlocked into a hole anyway?"

"The mother," Laura said, fighting tears. "She locked it, but I don't know if she did it so he couldn't get at me or so he could..."

"Couldn't I expect," Lady Longtree's voice interrupted. "But then she became frightened and ran away. With the key. Not the mother though, her sister I believe."

"I don't care who she was. Just get me out of here!" Laura yelped.

"No problem." It was William this time. "I know where the tunnel you're in goes. I'll come in and fetch you. It'll take a few minutes, though."

"I want to get out now!" Laura wailed. "I hate places like this. There are rats down here, I know there are. I can hear them..."

She could too. Now that all the noises above her had ceased she could hear them, rustling sounds, or was it chewing? They might come and start to chew on her....

"Rats don't bother people who aren't dead yet," William offered by way of comfort. "There's probably plenty of food for them in the crypts anyway."

Laura started to laugh then, a hysterical sobbing laugh that brought first Violet and then Rachel to the grating. She heard a murmured conversation between her gasps, and then one pair of feet moved away.

"All right, Laura." Rachel's voice now, cheerful and calm. "I'm sure it's dreadful down there, but we really will get you out soon, William's jokes notwithstanding. I'd hand you a cup of tea if I could, but water from a flask will have to do. Here, I'll drip it down if you'll put your mouth up."

Momentarily soothed by her calmness and certainty, Laura obeyed. A few dribbles of water, laced with something stronger she suspected, went down her parched throat. It burned pleasantly. She took a deep breath and asked for another dribble. After about four of them, she felt steadier.

"Brandied water?" she asked shakily.

"Just a drop or two," Rachel answered. "I keep it handy for situations like this. If I could, I'd bring one of those dogs, the St. Bernard types they have in all the pictures of Switzerland with a cask around their necks."

That made Laura laugh, a more normal sound this time, and she began to feel marginally better – until she remembered Mrs. Takara.

"Mrs. Takara!" she exclaimed. "How could I forget? She's being held hostage too. He knocked her over just before he grabbed me and said she would be killed if I didn't come. Just outside the hotel. You've got to rescue her."

Startled, Rachel dialed some numbers. "Have to go to the door, just for a minute," she called to Laura as she ran. "No signal in here."

The silence after she left was unnerving. Laura could hear the rats chewing again, closer now she thought. Maybe there were snakes, too. "Where are Violet and Lady Longtree?" she yelped, unable to bear the noises.

"Violet had to go to the station to book your assailant, but I'm right here," Lady Longtree replied calmly as she settled herself near the grating. "You are playing your part extremely well, my dear," she added.

"I'm not playing a part. I'm terrified," Laura objected, wiping off the dust and dirt that fell into her face every time anyone moved above her.

Rachel returned and leaned over the grating. "Mrs. Takara was found pounding on the door of an old shed outside the hotel," she said with a barely restrained grin. "Apparently, someone locked her in. She isn't harmed, just having hysterics."

"I'm going to have hysterics too, unless you get me out of here," Laura shot back.

"You already are," Rachel replied calmly. "Now, what we're going to do is sit here, you and me and Lady Longtree, our virtuoso with the umbrella, and have a cozy chat while we wait for William to reach you or the ironmonger to arrive, whichever comes first. In the meantime, I want to hear how the... how you ended up in there."

"Bait," Lady Longtree murmured. "The proverbial tethered goat."

"But I didn't try to be bait!" Laura protested indignantly. "I admit I had talked about it, but I would never do it this early in the morning. I'm not at my best then. All I did was come down to the lobby to meet Rachel and Violet for breakfast, or at least I thought that's why Rachel told me to come down at that hour."

Rachel was startled. "I told you to come down?"

"That's what the desk clerk said when she called at the ungodly hour of six thirty. So I came. But Mrs. Takara intercepted me. She thought I'd come down that early so I could go with them on a tour. She asked the day before, but I hadn't checked with Violet. I didn't want to go, and anyway I didn't think Violet would let me."

"We shall have to ask Violet," Lady Longtree inserted. Her voice was sharp with interest. "What happened after that?"

"I tried to tell Mrs. Takara she was wrong but you know how she is, she doesn't listen, and she just dragged me out the door. When she finally realized I was serious about not going, she practically started to cry.

"Then, while we were standing outside the hotel, the baby's father ran between us, knocked Mrs. Takara down and pointed his knife at me. He said if I didn't come he would kill me and Mrs. Takara. Someone else had a knife on her.

"I am tired of being abducted! It is very hard on the nerves!" Laura's words were delivered in a near shout, and Rachel jumped.

"Hard on all our nerves," she agreed fervently. "I shall have to ask for a rest cure if I'm assigned to guard you much longer."

"I'll join you," Laura promised, "if I ever get out of here."

The conversation languished, and Laura felt hysteria returning. Lady Longtree's voice forestalled it. "I fear the rescue plan took longer than it should have," she apologized. "It took some time to find a sufficiently sensible person to run to the hotel and give to Violet and Rachel my message. The first two people I accosted only looked irritated. Finally I saw a bright looking boy riding a bicycle and offered him five pounds if he did what I asked and did it fast. Ah, here he is now, wanting his tip."

"Excuse, M'am," a child's voice ventured. "You said..."

"Indeed I did," Lady Longtree agreed, handing him a five pound note.

"Thank you, M'am," he replied in a piping voice, as if reciting a line. Then, in a more normal tone: "I never been in that hotel. Fancy, that is."

"You deserve it. You may have saved this lady's life," Lady Longtree told him.

"I did?" A pair of round blue eyes, so round Laura thought they might pop out of the child's head, peered down through the grating. Red hair stuck up in all directions as if the shock of seeing her had electrified it.

"Blimey!" he exclaimed in wonder. "Is she stuck down there?"

"She is," Rachel told him casually. "She got locked in by one person so another person couldn't put a knife in her back. There's no key."

"Gawd almighty! Can't cher get her out then, ever? Maybe she'll have to live down there forever," he added with ghoulish satisfaction. He plumped himself down on one side of the grating and leaned over it, apparently eager to observe Laura's slow deterioration. "Jeez!" he observed happily. "It's like one of them shows on the telly. What's it like down there?"

"Cramped, dirty and smelly," Laura muttered unhappily. "What's your name?" she asked the child. At least he was distracting.

"Davy," he answered. "What's yours?"

"Laura," she answered, and gagged on dust. Oh please, she begged the unknown man who must be the blacksmith, please hurry up...

"You're American, ain't cha," the child observed with satisfaction.

Laura blinked. "Yes. You can tell because we do crazy things."

"I think you're brave," he told her loyally. "Braver than my sister would be, anyhow. Maybe braver than me."

Footsteps, even heavier ones, coming this way. The blacksmith? Laura tried to breathe deeply so she wouldn't disgrace herself by crying but gagged instead.

"A problem here, I see," a voice observed cheerfully, and a grimy face appeared above the grating. His next words were predictable. "How'd you get in there?"

"It's a long story," Laura croaked. "I just want to get out."

"In a jiffy," he answered. "Here, Davy, hold this crowbar." Davy complied eagerly, and the man bent to his task.

Abruptly, the grate came off with a wrenching sound. Everyone cheered. Laura couldn't. Rust and bits of grime had spattered into her eyes and down her throat, making speech impossible. She couldn't see, either. Blindly, she felt for the opening. Rachel's hands and a pair of mighty arms that must belong to the blacksmith, hauled her up and onto her feet. She promptly fell. Her legs had gone numb.

Rachel knelt beside her. "Drink," she ordered, putting a flask in her hand.

"Too much stuff in my throat," Laura sputtered, but she tried anyway. Some of it went down, and she choked. Blinking hard, she peered up at the others.

A flashbulb went off. Richard, Laura saw, drawn to the drama by his nose for news - if a nose was needed. The hotel must be buzzing with the story by this time.

"I don't think cameras and flashes are allowed in here," she croaked.

"I bet maniacs with knives and ladies in tunnels aren't either," Richard noted.

"Let's get one of you and the boy. Davy, is that right? Just go bend over Laura. That's it. Terrific." Another flash went off.

William reappeared. "Sorry Laura. The tunnels didn't go through," he apologized, sounding genuinely contrite. "We would have had a great time exploring them. I saw a bunch of skeletons down there."

Laura shuddered, but William didn't notice. Davy had sidled up to him, and an absorbing conversation about skeletons ensued. "She might have been one of them, that Laura lady," she heard Davy exclaim enthusiastically, "if they hadn't pulled her out. How long does it take to get turned into bone?"

Laura didn't wait for an answer. "Get me out of here and get me tea!" she said, struggling painfully to her feet.

Violet reappeared. "Works every time," she agreed, taking Laura's arm. "A few cups in you, and you'll be right as rain. Besides, we have work to do."

Rachel took the other arm and they set off. Laura wondered if her legs and hips would ever work properly again. Her muscles felt like sandpaper, and her feet seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to do.

There was no lack of people outside the hotel now. As they came up to it, more flashbulbs went off. Laura winced.

"Tea coming right up," Rachel announced, and headed for the kitchen.

Once in her room, Laura stripped off her clothes, threw them aside and stumbled into the shower. Sighing luxuriously, she let the hot water strip grime from her body; then wrapped herself in the terry cloth robe and staggered back into the bedroom.

Violet had already poured a cup for her. "I feel like I got buried alive and was just dug out again," Laura said as she sipped gratefully. "It's going to take three cups at least to bring me back to normal."

"Not surprising," Rachel commented with a shiver. "Ghastly place. I'd have freaked out long before you did. I hate places like that."

"Thanks for rescuing me," Laura offered belatedly. "I really did think for a bit that I'd had it. Lady Longtree was amazing."

"She held him off until we could get there," Violet agreed. "Ah, here she is, and William. I want them to listen too, while I ask you a few questions."

"Sorry," Lady Longtree apologized as she took a seat. "I got held up when Davy's mother came to look for him, with four others just like him in assorted sizes and sexes tagging behind. Rather like a gaggle of red-headed geese."

Violet recalled them to business. "I need to ask Laura those questions," she reminded them. She turned to Laura, her face intent. "Think hard about your answers because this is important."

"I'll try," Laura agreed, aware that there was excitement in Violet. She could feel it emanating toward her. She sat up straighter.

"I want you to repeat everything you can remember and especially everyone you saw during five short periods of time," Violet began. "William, I want you to check Laura's accounts with your graphs and make any necessary changes."

She turned to Laura again. "I want to hear about your time in the airport, the time when you tried to talk to Amy in Stourhead Gardens: the time after you were waylaid by Dr. Bernstein; the time after the recital in the Cathedral, and the time of your accident on the stairs of the tower. Give yourself plenty of time to think who and what you saw."

Laura prodded her memory as she finished her second cup of tea; then she recounted each period in as much detail as she possibly could.

"Does that help?" she asked when she had finished.

"I believe it does," Violet replied, and again Laura was reminded of a hawk. This time, it was definitely not a friendly one. The gleaming amber eyes were fierce and determined, the eyes of a hawk about to make a kill.

"Yes," Violet added in a soft, deliberate voice that sent shivers up Laura's spine. "I believe it does."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Violet announced that there would be a meeting at five o'clock that afternoon in a large room overlooking the hotel garden. All the tour members were expected to attend. In the meantime, she asked them to stay nearby and to let her know if they went out. No one questioned her authority.

Only the Takaras asked for permission to go out so they could do their tour with Elise. Alarmingly, Mrs. Takara was still determined to take Laura with them. Violet vetoed this unrealistic demand but decreed that the Takaras could go as long as a policeman went with them and they returned in time for the meeting. Both decisions seemed to hurt Mrs. Takara's feelings deeply; she protested that a policeman wasn't necessary and that she would take fine care of Laura.

"She has had a bad experience," Laura overheard the little woman whisper confidentially to Violet, "and the best remedy then is always to keep busy and not keep thinking of what has happened. That is always what I tell my girls."

Violet wouldn't back down, however, and Mrs. Takara finally gave in. To Laura's amusement, she then tried to convince her police escort not to come. That too was refused. Mrs. Takara sounded almost tearful as they set off. Being accompanied by a policeman incurred a loss of face – as did the inference that she couldn't take good enough care of Laura despite her long experience in taking care of girls.

Glad to be spared the trip, Laura stayed mostly in her room. Violet turned up twice to clarify certain points. She gave nothing away, but the predatory look in her eyes made Laura certain that her friend knew the identity of the criminal she sought.

William came in for a brief visit too. He seemed ebullient, which Laura suspected meant that Lady Longtree had told him about Maria. He showed her the diagrams he had made, where people were when, who might have interacted with whom and who might have seen another person without that person's awareness. They were clear and easy to interpret, and Laura was impressed.

"That's the way my mind works," William explained nonchalantly. "I've got a kind of map inside my head that I can look at when I need to, and that makes it easy to remember stuff. Like musical notes, or tunnels, where they go in and come out or where they are on the scale or map. Everybody has one, I guess, only they don't always see it."

Laura smiled. The juxtaposition of musical notes and tunnels was unusual, but she knew what he meant. "I doubt if most people are as good at it as you are," she told him, "and the diagrams are brilliant. I imagine they've been a great help to Violet."

William smiled with pleasure, the beautiful encompassing smile that always went straight to Laura's heart. "Yeah, I guess they were. She really liked them. Said they helped her crack the case. It's surprising how often people forget to tell you what they saw, but if you know where everybody was and when they were there, and check them against each other, you get some interesting patterns.

"Violet said not to talk about them, so I better not. Or to show them to anybody but you and Rachel, so don't say anything either." With a cheery wave, he sauntered out the door, the diagrams tucked securely under his arm.

The day wore on. Laura tried to sleep, to rest, to think, but only became more and more restless, as if a hurricane or violent thunderstorm was pending. Rachel finally brought out a pack of cards and made her play variations on poker, which entertained her mildly but didn't really help.

Just before five o'clock, Violet popped in with a request. "I want you to take the far seat at one end of the semi-circle of chairs," she told Laura. "You are there to watch faces. William will do the same at the other end. I shall need your input if the meeting doesn't go as planned."

She turned to Rachel. "You are to stand behind Laura, but when I give you the signal I want you to move to the French doors into the garden. You understand."

Their eyes met and Rachel nodded, her face grave. "Yes, I understand." Laura looked at the youthful face and wondered how much Rachel knew, and even more, how much violence and cruelty she had already seen in the few years she had spent at her job. Probably too much.

Suddenly, the case seemed very serious, and horribly nasty. Laura was aware of a weariness that had nothing to do with physical tiredness as she walked slowly into the meeting room with Rachel and Violet.

The room featured a pair of glass-paned French doors that looked into the hotel garden. The only other door was the one through which they entered. Eight straight-backed chairs had been arranged in a wide semi-circle around a central podium.

They were the first to arrive; Violet went to the podium, and Laura took her assigned seat at the far end so she could watch people as they came in. Rachel stood behind her.

It was a solemn procession. Lady Longtree came first and took a seat in the middle of the semi-circle near the French doors, murmuring about feeling dizzy if she didn't have air. Laura raised an eyebrow. That was the first she had heard of dizzy spells. William took the other seat at the end of the semi-circle opposite Laura.

Mrs. Takara, who had overheard Lady Longtree's remark, sat down beside her. "I, too," she whispered. "It is these long meetings. I always wish for fresh air."

Mr. Takara sat stolidly down beside William, as if emphasizing his lack of connection with his silly wife. Irritated, Laura examined his impassive features and discovered that they weren't unexpressive at all. Mr. Takara was terrified. Mrs. Takara, in contrast, was either unaware of the tension in the room or ignored it. Still, Laura thought her face was watchful, not frightened like her husband's, but definitely wary. How far would she go to protect him, to save him from embarrassment, as she had put it, if he was guilty?

Claudine came in and crossed the room quickly as if to sit beside Laura, but Mrs. Takara patted the seat beside her insistently. Claudine hesitated; then she took it. She looked frightened too, or was nervous a better word? More like stage fright, Laura decided, as if she was preparing to play yet another role. Already, she had morphed from cool, self-contained beauty in a miserable marriage to former waitress with a Brooklyn accent – with a detour at some point to marry Roger Brown - to the loving companion of an irreverent journalist who could hardly take his eyes off her. A further transition to master criminal seemed well within her range.

Richard took the seat between her and Claudine. Laura was surprised that he had been included, but she assumed Violet had her reasons. She wondered if Richard knew about Claudine's former marriage to Roger Brown – and if his infatuation with Claudine could be an act designed to trap her.

Alan entered next. Instead, of taking the remaining seat, he pulled a chair to a spot midway between Violet in the podium and the door through which they had all entered. Laura thought he looked better, as if part of his life had returned to normal.

Violet stood perfectly still, watching the door. Clearly, she expected someone else to arrive. Dr. Bernstein or Hans, Laura thought, and wondered which.

The others waited in strained silence. Laura spent the time making a mental map of everyone's position, as William had suggested. She ran her eyes along the row of chairs: herself, Richard, Claudine, Mrs. Takara, Lady Longtree, a still empty seat, Mr. Takara and William.

They heard a muted commotion in the hall, and then Hans appeared – or Laura assumed he was Hans. The bandages that swathed his head made it hard to be sure. He limped as he headed slowly for the last seat. Laura was appalled. Who had done that to him? Surely not the police. Did his presence here mean that he was no longer being held as a suspect, or that Violet meant to accuse him in front of everyone?

No time for speculation now, she reminded herself. Watch faces. Was anyone shocked by the sight of Hans? Only Claudine, though that could be an act. William and Lady Longtree looked upset but not surprised. Mr. Takara shrank away from Hans as he took his seat, his face guarded now.

Mrs. Takara, surprisingly, was angry. "He should not be here," she hissed, and stared malevolently at Hans, as if trying to see through the bandages to the bad character she was sure lurked underneath. Perhaps she was right, Laura thought.

When Hans was settled, Violet turned to survey the people in front of her. Her eyes were hard as gimlets.

"As many of you know, I am a special investigator who deals with criminal cases involving children," she began, her voice firm and authoritative. The only people who seemed disconcerted by her statement were the Takaras. Mrs. Takara's eyes opened wide in amazement that quickly disappeared, as if she didn't want to be exposed as naïve. Mr. Takara reacted differently. He seemed to sink into his chair and for a moment Laura thought he would bolt from the room. He stared at his wife with an expression Laura couldn't read, except that it wasn't pleasant, and then his eyes dropped.

"I am here, as are a number of other people in the room," Violet continued, "to investigate an organization that bribes parents to sell their babies for a particularly onerous purpose – to make them virtual slaves to a group of wealthy men. The babies, who are all girls from Muslim backgrounds, are taken abroad to be trained as obedient wives. They are forced to undergo circumcision, as that is considered essential in an acceptably submissive mate. Should they object to their new role, they are brutally punished, made to work as unpaid servants, or they are put out into the streets."

Claudine uttered a faint cry of distress. Either she hadn't known the purpose of the organization, or she wanted everyone to think she didn't. Richard took her hand to comfort her, and she moved closer to him.

Mrs. Takara nodded her head mournfully, as if such horrors were nothing new to her. Mr. Takara only shrank back further. His forehead gleamed with sweat, and little droplets trickled down his cheeks.

"That is the background of this case," Violet went on. "We became aware that this criminal organization had begun to operate in the Bath area, and so we moved in. We became aware, too, that some of the principals in the organization were on this tour, for reasons we did not at first understand. Now, we do."

She let the statement linger in the air before she spoke again. "Amy's death was not suicide," she said baldly. "Amy was murdered because she had been persuaded to help this organization obtain infant girls still in hospital, or shortly after they went home. Amy believed she was saving them from genital mutilation and a life of servitude to the man chosen for them by their fathers or brothers. She, like them, was an innocent victim of a vicious organization."

Mrs. Takara looked shocked. "But that cannot be," she said in disbelieving tones. "She was so unhappy. So very unhappy." She glanced at her husband as if seeking confirmation, but he didn't meet her eyes. He never looked at her except with loathing, Laura realized. Mrs. Takara was hardly beautiful with her lined face and dark frumpy clothes, but her husband seemed almost to hate her. Unlike her, he didn't seem surprised by Violet's revelation about Amy.

Claudine seemed unsurprised, too. Only her body betrayed her reaction. It crumpled a little as if at a blow but she stiffened again quickly. She seemed tired and withdrawn now, as if she just wanted this drama to end.

Her wish wasn't granted. Violet had another shock for them. "Amy was also murdered by mistake," she stated deliberately. "The intended victim was Margaret."

A wave of pity engulfed Laura, but also recognition. Margaret as victim made much more sense. She studied the others. Most reacted as she did, with sadness but not shock. Mr. Takara looked uninterested. It seemed not to matter to him which woman had been murdered or why. He was still afraid, though.

Mrs. Takara, in contrast, nodded her head sagely. "Yes," she murmured to Lady Longtree. "Yes, that could be so. She was not a strong person, Margaret. She did not have good companions I think. She did not judge them well."

Violet spoke again, and Laura noted that everyone seemed puzzled by her choice of subject matter. She certainly was.

"It has been interesting to us," Violet said, and now her tone was bland, "that so many participants in this tour have spent time in New York or once lived there. Laura comes from New York and has taught for many years in that area, Hans attends many meetings in New York associated with the United Nations and his own organization; Lady Longtree and William visit often for various reasons. Dr. Bernstein was a regular visitor to New York as well, for academic conferences and less admirable pursuits that we are now investigating.

"He is a suspected pedophile," she added in a soft but menacing tone. "And a distributor of illegal drugs. He provided them for the babies, to make them sleep."

Laura winced. The first revelation didn't surprise her, but the second did. No wonder Violet disliked Dr. Bernstein so intensely.

Abruptly, Violet's demeanor changed again, and Laura had the feeling that she had gone on the attack now. She took a step forward and her body whipped around to face Mr. Takara. Her eyes were steely.

"You worked in New York for a time, did you not, Mr. Takara?"

His face blanched. "I... I, yes I did, for a time," he mumbled, and Laura didn't even need to look to read his fear. His body radiated terror. Violet watched him intensely for a long moment before she turned to Mrs. Takara, who looked nervous and for the first time a little uncertain.

"You too lived in New York at that time, Mrs. Takara?" Violet persisted, but her tone was less menacing now.

"I must go where my husband goes," Mrs. Takara reproved, seeming to regain assurance by returning to familiar ground. "In these modern times I understand that is not always done, but in Japan it is still so."

"But you are not Japanese, are you?" Violet asked unexpectedly. "I understand that you were born in New York and lived there and in other parts of the world before settling in Japan. Mr. Takara is not Japanese by birth either, I believe," she added.

"I am Japanese now," Mr. Takara inserted angrily, with a sudden resurgence of strength. Mrs. Takara cast him a mournful look and cocked her head to one side like a small bird before she answered for both of them.

"My parents were not rich," she told the others sadly. "They came to New York because they hoped for nice jobs but alas, my father died and then there was just my mother and I. We tried to save enough to go back to Japan where she had been born but it was hard, very hard, and so we were forced to stay." She sighed heavily, as if the recollection brought great pain.

"We tried many places, many jobs," she went on, blinking back tears, "but it was always the same, always that struggle, always so very poor...

"That was true for my husband too, at first," she added with the same pathetic dignity Laura had noted before. "Then he found a job with a good company and we were finally able to move back to Japan."

She wagged an admonitory finger at Violet. "It is too bad of you to remind me of these things. They are over now and they only bring sadness."

Violet ignored the criticism and turned to Claudine. "You too have strong ties with New York, Claudine." The statement seemed to energize Claudine. She sat up straight in her chair, ready to play her role. How good an actress was she? And had Violet been spotlighting Mr. Takara in order to put the person she thought was really the brains behind the criminal organization off her guard?

"I lived in New York for many years," Claudine confirmed in a steady, uninflected tone.

"You originated in Brooklyn, I believe," Violet went on, "and spent those years in New York City either as an actress or model or in various other jobs such as cocktail waitress and club dancer."

"That is true," Claudine confirmed again. She didn't look at anyone except Violet, but her tone held no defensiveness.

"And while you were in those occupations, you no doubt saw something of New York's seamier side, if I can call it that."

"I did," Claudine answered, her voice still steady and unemotional. Her control was remarkable, Laura thought. Violet would have a hard time making her crack if that was her purpose.

"You knew, for instance," Violet persisted, "that certain organizations, Mafia-like groups, operated in the New York area and that they often infiltrated businesses like nightclub dancing or prostitution, or modeling for sex videos."

Claudine reacted at last. "I could smell them," she said emphatically, her lips tight with recollection. "They came, I left."

"Did you know any of the people who ran these organizations?"

Claudine hesitated before she answered, and Laura glanced quickly at Mr. Takara. His face was frozen now, a veritable mask of fear. Mrs. Takara looked desperate to go to him and steady him. She seemed stronger than her husband now, the determined wife who wouldn't let him incriminate himself, no matter what he had done.

Claudine's voice interrupted the thought. "I didn't know them personally," she answered finally, "but I did hear of them. Sometimes I read about them or heard about them from girlfriends who got tricked or bullied into working for them."

"But you say you avoided that fate because you could smell them? That is a little hard to believe." Violet's tone was caustic, unbelieving.

The implication that Claudine was lying was obvious. Laura wondered suddenly if Claudine and Roger Brown and Mr. Takara were partners in the organization. They could have been meeting secretly. No one would have known.

Richard looked angry, but Claudine only shrugged. "I guess it is hard to believe, but it's true. I only made one mistake, long ago, but after that I always sensed when they had infiltrated a place where I was working, and I managed to slide away. I never refused them outright; that only makes them mad. I just kept some money stashed away and used it to get the hell out of there. I got pretty expert at it.

"Besides," Claudine added, her tone as caustic as Violet's, "those bastards take everything you earn except for a pittance, and expect you to be grateful for that!"

Violet pounced. "Would that one mistake involve Roger Brown, the man now being held as a suspect in Amy's murder?"

Claudine paled visibly, and for the first time she was defensive. "I don't know what that bastard told you, but whatever he said is bullshit! He hates my guts because I outsmarted him, and he'd say anything to get me in trouble. But you're right. My mistake was letting him sweet-talk me into working at his club. The truth is he found out I had money put by and wanted me to put it into some deal he had going. I refused and got out of there fast. He blames me because the deal collapsed and he went broke."

To Laura's surprise, Violet let the subject drop. "I see," she replied. "So after that experience you managed to slide away, as you call it. Can you tell us about any of the organizations you managed to slide away from?"

Claudine ignored the sarcasm. "I was careful not to get too close to any of them after that, as I said," she replied, her voice unemotional again, "so I don't know much about how they worked. But I do remember..."

She shivered, unable to repress a visceral fear aroused by the memory. "There's one I remember more than the others," she resumed, straightening her spine again as if determined to refute the fear. "It was run by a woman they called the ice lady. She was supposed to have a knife that gleamed like ice, and she used it to slice people up who got in her way or girls who refused to do what she told them."

Laura stared at Claudine as a long-forgotten memory began to surface. Her story was true. There had been a woman like that, although she hadn't heard about the knife. But she did remember the term ice lady. Was that why she had dubbed the woman she had heard from the cellar the icy lady? Was it a subconscious recollection?

Claudine's voice recalled her. "The story was in the papers for a while but then it fizzled out, maybe because the police never made any arrests." She shuddered again. "I stayed clear of that one, but she operated in New York for a long time I heard.

"That's the main one I remember. The others were just the usual mafia types. Threaten the girls who wouldn't pay, be nice to the ones who did or at least not hurt them, and kill any bastard who got in the way or betrayed them. There should be some police records in New York about them."

Laura frowned. Why would Claudine tell them about the ice lady if she was or had been that woman, or was even involved with the organization?

Belatedly she looked at Mr. Takara again. He looked as if he were on the verge of a heart attack. His face had bleached to a white mask, and his eyes were petrified. With a cry of distress, Mrs. Takara leaped up to go to him, but Rachel intervened. Laura realized that she had unobtrusively moved closer to the French doors, no doubt in response to a signal from Violet.

"We will attend to him, Mrs. Takara," Rachel said politely, and ushered the little woman gently but firmly back to her seat.

"But he is my husband! I must go to him," Mrs. Takara objected, her face drawn with misery. Rachel didn't answer, and after a moment Mrs. Takara sat down, but her small body was stiff with resentment. She watched her husband apprehensively, as if pleading with him from a distance not to give himself away.

Again, Violet's next statement seemed to have nothing to do with what they had been talking about, and as far as Laura could tell was a complete surprise to everyone, herself included.

"Mr. Takara," she said without preamble, "would it help you to know that the woman about whom you are concerned has been taken into protective custody?"

Mr. Takara stared at her in disbelief, and then his face crumpled. He covered it with shaking hands and sat for a long moment trying to control the sobs that racked his body. Finally he raised his eyes again and looked pleadingly at Violet. "She is safe?" he asked desperately.

"She is quite safe," Violet replied steadily.

"You are certain," he pleaded again. "If you are certain..."

"I am certain," Violet repeated, and was silent, as if she were waiting for someone else to react.

Laura looked at her curiously, wondering what she was up to now. Her attention was diverted by a sudden movement. Mrs. Takara half rose from her chair to point an accusing finger at her husband. "So it was you!" she exclaimed, her voice shocked. "All the time, it was you who did these terrible things. I did not think it possible..."

She whirled to face Hans. "It is your fault," she hissed vehemently. "You pretend to be helping little children and all the time you were the one who made him do these cruel things to them. I saw you talking to him, making my poor husband do as you wished," she went on bitterly. "It is because of you that dishonor has come to our family..." She subsided into her chair and buried her face in her hands, as her husband had.

"I see," Violet replied. "So you believe that Hans Gruber is the criminal who runs this organization?"

"Of course he is!" Mrs. Takara exclaimed impatiently. "Has no one told you that? You should arrest him again, make him tell you. That is what I say. Then the rest of us can leave." She sounded like a furious child.

Violet regarded Hans appraisingly. "Unfortunately, Mr. Gruber cannot speak. He was in an accident, and his jaw has been wired shut."

"He is just pretending," Mrs. Takara said scornfully. "You must arrest him again." Hans didn't react except to look down at the floor. Violet said nothing.

A hushed silence filled the room after that. It went on for so long that Laura thought she would scream unless someone else did first.

Finally Mrs. Takara stirred. "If only I had realized before," she moaned. "I might have saved that poor girl. She must have seen something, I do not know what, but then the wrong one was killed. But maybe she will know what it was, the one who was not killed. Perhaps she is recovered enough to speak, poor creature."

She peered up through stiff fingers at Violet, and Laura saw that her face was mottled by distress. "Has she told you why the other one was killed, what she saw?"

"Margaret has said very little," Violet replied impassively.

"But she must have told you about that terrible man, about what he did," Mrs. Takara said indignantly, dropping her hands from her face. "I will tell then if she has not." She opened her mouth to speak again but Mr. Takara interrupted her.

"Where is she?" he asked Violet suddenly.

"I cannot disclose her location," Violet replied, "but I can assure you that she is safe and well cared for."

"Then I will speak." Mr. Takara rose to his feet and held his body straight as a ramrod as if preparing for a difficult task. "I think you know anyway, do you not?" He didn't wait for an answer but looked steadily at Violet. Laura had the impression he was afraid to look anywhere else.

"I will tell you all you wish to know," he repeated, but his voice wavered. His eyes went furtively to his wife's face. With a cry, she sprang to her feet and took a step toward him. Again, Rachel restrained her with a firm hand and a quiet word.

Mr. Takara lowered his eyes to the floor. "I am the only one who knows, and I must," he whispered into the breathless silence that permeated the room. "I cannot go on living as I have lived all these years. I must put a stop to it. They will make sure; they would not lie..."

He hesitated again and then seemed to gather the courage to speak. "She, she is the one you want," he said in a voice of quiet assurance. He pointed to Claudine and Mrs. Takara, but he didn't look at either of them. "She is the monster, the ice lady you seek."

Desperation filled Laura. Who did he mean?

"Will you please name the ice lady for us, Mr. Takara?" Violet's voice was firm.

A shudder moved through Mr. Takara. Slowly he turned his head. "The ice lady is my wi -"

He got no further. The center of the room erupted into movement. Mrs. Takara leaped onto her seat and hauled Claudine up in front of her. One wiry arm wrapped itself sinuously around Claudine's neck in a practiced gesture. In her other hand Mrs. Takara held a gleaming knife.

Laura watched her in horror. All trace of the little woman's former identity had vanished. Her face was cruel, and utterly remorseless, and her black eyes gleamed with malice. She was someone else... someone who would kill and torture...

With the knife, the gleaming silvery knife, as long and thin as a shining sliver of ice but wickedly sharp, sharper than ice could ever be...

Alan and Richard both made a movement toward Claudine, as did Violet. "You will not move, any of you," Mrs. Takara ordered. "I will kill her if you do." Her tone was icy, commanding. The voice of the ice lady, Laura realized, and wanted to weep with the hopelessness of the situation.

Mr. Takara paid no attention to his wife's threat and advanced on her. "It is too late," he told her. "You cannot get away."

His courageous gesture did no good. As soon as he came within range, Mrs. Takara's knife shot out and stabbed him in the shoulder. "That is what you deserve," she hissed venomously. "You have dared to betray me... You of all people know what will happen now. My people will find her and kill her slowly as I order."

Mr. Takara staggered back, clutching the wound. Blood poured through his fingers. He looked pathetically at Violet.

"They will not find her," Violet assured him steadily. Laura cringed. How could Violet be so calm?

With an easy agility Laura would never have suspected in her, Mrs. Takara stepped down from her chair and kicked it savagely out of the way. The skinny arms that had once seemed stringy and old were firm with muscle now, and there was no hesitation in her springing step or the vicious kick. Her face was supremely confident.

Walking backward with Claudine held in front of her, she proceeded slowly to the French doors, keeping the knife pointed at Claudine's chest.

Richard, watching in helpless dread, let out an indeterminate sound of choked rage and took a step forward, then another. Watching Mrs. Takara carefully, he followed from a short distance, not venturing too close lest he make Mrs. Takara angry, but staying near enough to wrench Claudine from her grasp if the opportunity arose. Claudine looked terrified, and appallingly helpless in Mrs. Takara's iron grasp. Laura noticed that she was twisting a silk scarf in her hands, as if to contain her terror with the small gesture.

Mrs. Takara pointed the knife at Claudine's chest threateningly and Richard stopped, but his muscles were still primed to spring.

"You will open the doors now," Mrs. Takara ordered Lady Longtree, who was closest to them. After a brief confirming nod from Violet, Lady Longtree went slowly to the double door and pushed one side of it wide open.

Laura watched in helpless horror. Surely they shouldn't help this madwoman by opening the door for her? And where was Rachel? She might be able to stop her...

"Back," Mrs. Takara ordered Lady Longtree, bringing the knife even closer to Claudine's chest. Lady Longtree took a step back.

With infinite care, Mrs. Takara continued to move backward to the open door. Laura peered outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of police, but she could see no one. Was Mrs. Takara really going to get away with this and take Claudine hostage?

Richard continued to follow them but at a slight distance. His eyes seemed to be focused on the garden now.

Suddenly he stopped short. "Look out!" he yelled sharply, his face filled with alarm. "Dogs; the police have attack dogs out there. Look out!"

Panic filled Mrs. Takara's face and she whirled to look out the door, the knife held in front of her in self-defense. In that moment Claudine wrenched herself free, turned like a dancer practicing a pirouette, and deftly slipped her silk scarf around Mrs. Takara's neck.

Richard sprang forward and together they twisted it hard. Mrs. Takara uttered a choked cry of surprise. She tried to slash at them with her knife, but they only took a step back out of range and twisted harder.

Gagging, Mrs. Takara lunged forward as if trying to run, the knife once more held in front of her like a dagger. Her long hair swinging, Rachel stepped out from behind the other door, knocked the knife out of her hand with an efficient blow from one leg and snapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The garden was suddenly full of police. Three of them converged on a screaming Mrs. Takara, but a fourth and then a fifth were required to drag her away. Laura watched the writhing group, mesmerized by Mrs.Takara's capacity for sustained violence. She scratched at the policemen's eyes with handcuffed fingers; when her arms were restrained, she bit savagely at the hands that held her. A burly arm finally pinioned her neck so she resorted to kicking, well-aimed blows that found their mark, according to the yelps of surprise and pain that carried back into the big room. And all the time she screamed obscenities and curses in multiple languages, interspersed with unspeakably cruel vows of vengeance on all of them and on her husband and Laura in particular.

Laura collapsed onto her chair as the terrible noises faded away. "Good heavens," she stammered, her voice awed. "I didn't know anyone could be that vicious...

"You were magnificent, Claudine," she added, and jumped up again to make sure Claudine was all right.

"Thanks," Claudine's voice was shaky. She too had fallen into a seat. "I can't believe I actually managed it," she added, and shuddered violently. "My God, she really is horrible, isn't she?"

As if at a signal, everyone's eyes went to Mr. Takara. He hadn't moved. He stood like a statue, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. Blood dripped down the front of his suit jacket. Alan stood silently beside him.

Two policemen approached, and Mr. Takara held out his hands to them for the handcuffs. "I am happy to come with you," he told them.

"Those won't be necessary," Violet said gently. "Deal with the wound as best you can," she instructed the police officers, "and then get him to hospital for assessment before you take him in."

Mr. Takara stood patiently while they attended to him. When they had finished, he raised his head and for the first time looked at the people in the room. There was great dignity as well as sadness in his bearing.

"I wish to apologize to all of you for the harm my wife has caused, the harm I caused because I was afraid to go to the authorities. Not for myself, you understand," he added, "but for my friend. She is innocent, as Amy was innocent. I am very sorry for her death. As for myself..."

He smiled faintly. "My wife has threatened me so many times with so many forms of horror that I have lost all capacity to fear her. I came only to hate her instead. I believe that after I have told the authorities everything I know, and I know a great deal, I can finally make sure she does not return."

He turned to Violet. "Thank you. I am grateful to you for making that possible. You have done this group and the world a great service. I also wish to thank all of you who helped."

Violet acknowledged his thanks with a grave nod. Mr. Takara bowed to all of them, a succession of formal bows; then he gestured to the policemen that he was ready to go. Together, they walked slowly out the door. Alan and Rachel followed.

Violet went to Claudine. "You were superb," she said sincerely. "In all my years at this job, I've never come across anyone quite so savage. If I'd known what a monster she was, I would never have let you take such a chance. And I can't imagine how she got that knife in here! The man on duty at the door instructed anyone with a handbag or other container to leave it at the desk."

"Hid it in her stocking, I imagine," Claudine said dryly. "It was a bit stressful, but worth it," she added, sounding more like herself, or the person Laura suspected was most like the real Claudine. "I mean, it's good business, isn't it? One good turn hopefully leads to another and I did hide those damned clothes. Stupid mistake and they're bound to book me for it but maybe if they know I tried to help...."

She let the sentence dangle and looked up at Violet with wide blue eyes. Violet laughed. "Claudine, I am glad to know you at last, and I really will see what I can do."

"It was a bravura performance," Lady Longtree agreed. "If you wish to pursue acting, I think the stage, more than film. Richard too. That line was admirably delivered."

Richard grinned at her. "I practiced in front of the mirror. Not too bad, I thought, though I might have added a tremor to my voice."

Claudine, however, looked embarrassed. "Thanks, but I think maybe just amateur theater after this," she said with a shiver. "Not so much tension."

"But did you have it all worked out in advance?" Laura asked.

"Some of it," Claudine answered. "Violet was afraid she might try to take you hostage, so we made sure she couldn't because she needed to be near the door and you were at one end. I knew what the plan was at least, so I volunteered. Richard looked at all the old newspaper accounts and discovered that the only thing that really terrified this ice lady was dogs. Both of us remembered the dog line from a play we'd been discussing, so we decided to use it if the opportunity came up.

"Just a scene from a play," she added modestly. "But it worked, didn't it? Mostly, though, that was because of Richard. He was very convincing."

"But did you know who Mrs. Takara was? And why did she hate me so much?" Laura persisted.

"I didn't know until I remembered the stories about the ice lady, that she was a tiny Asian woman," Claudine answered. "But I still wasn't positive until Mrs. Takara grabbed me around the neck. And she hated you because you kept getting in her way, but even more she was terrified that you would recognize her because you had lived in New York during the time she was there."

"She had a laundry list of other reasons," Violet put in. "First, at the airport you sat down across from the baby she was about to steal and then rescued it in the Baths, which suggested that you had joined the tour to investigate her organization - and that you had eavesdropped when she called the father on his cell phone."

Laura's jaw dropped. "You mean that was her he was talking to?"

Violet nodded. "We think she was giving instructions about where to drop off the baby. Everything you did after that – handing the baby over to the police, talking to an old man who had seen the baby earlier, looking for the mother and spying on the father, trying to get information from anyone who seemed to be involved – confirmed her suspicions. When she added all that to your research, you looked very dangerous to her. She tried staging fatal accidents first, but then it must have seemed more important to find out what you knew. That was fortunate – if she hadn't switched tactics, you wouldn't be here at all."

Laura shuddered. "That's the stuff of nightmares! But you're right," she added. The father was talking to a woman, and she was giving instructions about dropping something off. It just never occurred to me that it was babies. If only it had."

She shook her head ruefully. "All that time it was meek little Mrs. Takara, and I never even suspected! She's such an unlikely criminal. I even felt sorry for her."

"The trouble was that we dared not tell you when we finally began to suspect her," Violet said, "not because of your expressive face, but because Mrs. Takara is the type who picks up the tiniest clue. If you had viewed her as a suspect instead of seeing her as a tolerable nuisance, she would have spotted the difference in an instant. It was too dangerous. How you managed to escape her clutches I will never know."

"Sheer dumb luck?" Laura suggested.

"More like quick thinking," Violet corrected.

"It seems to me the only thing I did was stumble over clues and be chased by criminals with semi-murderous intent, "Laura commented wryly.

"You gave us our first clue about who the real villain was when you talked about the icy lady," Violet objected. "That's what triggered Claudine's memory. When she told me what she knew, it all fell into place and I finally zeroed in on Mrs. Takara.

"My problem then was how to catch her. Mrs. Takara is a slippery customer. She makes few mistakes and covers her tracks well. I knew I had to set a trap for her, but without everyone's help it would never have worked."

Violet glanced at her watch and sighed. "I was about to suggest a cup of the proverbial, but unfortunately, I've got to go to the station."

"Not until I get answers to a few questions," Laura said firmly.

"Fire away."

"First, what will happen to Margaret?"

"She arranged for the babies to be stolen by one of Roger's couriers, and that is an offense," Violet answered. "We are trying to get therapy for her. That is all we can do."

Laura grimaced. "Sad all round, especially that Amy got killed instead.

"Second, why did the baby's father kidnap me? Never mind. I can answer that myself. Mrs. Takara put him up to it. She arranged the phone call that got me downstairs and hauled me out the door, knowing he was waiting. When that failed, she had the temerity to try to get me to the gorge again so she could push me off a cliff!"

"Exactly." Violet's lips twitched with laughter.

"What's so amusing? Laura demanded.

"What is amusing is that the father was the double dealer in the group but apparently Mrs. Takara didn't know that. He wanted to get more money for his daughter because of her unusual coloring, so he was blackmailing Mrs. Takara even as she was hiring him to get you."

"Good grief! I'm not sure I'm all that amused." Laura considered, and smiled reluctantly. "On the other hand, I can see the humor in the situation."

"Good. Now I really must be off."

"Why tourist sites?" Laura called after her, desperate to know.

"Oh, that. Can call in bomb scares if required, can be done early in the morning before tourists arrive, or after hours, plenty of available help for dropping off and picking up babies because the couriers are mostly Muslim women – in conveniently concealing clothing - with jobs cleaning lavatories at the tourist sites. They have keys and can get in and out any time. Roger Brown was in charge of that. He had a whole group of women who adored him and thought they were giving the babies a chance at a better life.

"Also, because all tracks are covered or at least muddied. The principals are never in contact with the babies, only the couriers, who mysteriously die if they get too nosy or bungle the job. No trails are left to lead investigators to Roger Brown and Mrs. Takara.

"Make sense now?" With a final wave, Violet charged out the door.

"Yes, I mean I guess so," Laura muttered, trying to piece it all together.

Unexpectedly Violet reappeared. "I suggest that those of us who are left meet for dinner and a last celebration. I was going to stop by the desk and see if they'll let us use a room and sort out the logistics, but I've run out of time."

"Great! I'll do it," Laura replied. "I'd like to. Now that I know who wanted to kill me and why, and I'm not under guard, I can't think what to do with myself.

"Let's see, how many are we?"

"Twelve or thirteen, maybe fourteen," Violet answered with a grin. "And your next task is to figure out answers to any remaining questions, one of them being who the extra people might be. That should keep your brain busy.

"Or call someone and tell them all about it," she added more seriously. "That's always a help after the action is over."

"An excellent idea," Laura called to Violet's retreating back. She consulted her watch. Six- thirty – was that all? The meeting had felt more like a year. What time would it be in New York? Five hours behind, she realized. An excellent time for a chat.

Smiling to herself, she went to the desk and organized the event with the hotel, called or left messages for the remaining group members, then she went up to her room and picked up the phone. Thomas, for once caught at his desk, was delighted to hear from her and even more satisfying, was still delighted even after she told him the whole story. All the same, he uttered a variety of exclamations of horror and dismay as she proceeded and groaned theatrically when she had finished.

"Laura, my beloved, you are... well, what are you? Incautious to say the least, over-curious to put it mildly, entirely too willing to take chances and the devil to keep up with. I don't suppose I ever shall, at least completely.

"You are also very brave," he added softly, "a trait I admire despite my gasps of alarm and abundant protestations. Next time a client wants to kill me or otherwise do me bodily harm, I shall send you an urgent SOS. I am quite certain you will soon convince him or her that to take such an uncompromising attitude toward your beloved does not pass muster and I shall adore you even more than I do already, which is considerably."

Laura laughed. "Thomas, you are surely exaggerating!"

He was silent for a moment. "Actually, I don't think I am," he said seriously in that same soft tone.

Laura felt a delicious tingle invade various parts of her anatomy. She was trying to think how to respond when Thomas spoke again.

"I have a case coming up that might interest you. It involves a portrait of a well-known English reformer of the early 1900's. He was painted as a man but according to a new analysis, he was actually a woman. It seems to have aroused quite a bit of hostility in some quarters. Something to do with Jane Austen's family, I gather."

Laura was intrigued. "How fascinating! In my field, too – not the painting, but the gender aspect. And women authors."

"I'll tell all in London," Thomas promised. "Now, let's plan our weekend," he went on briskly. "We've got to fit in a lot when you finish adventuring and teaching and we actually manage to meet."

"We most certainly do," Laura agreed, and began to make suggestions.

*********************

Laura reveled in the luxury of having time to wash and even dry her hair, pulled out her favorite outfit, the multi-colored tunic with a jeweled belt and slim trousers she had first worn for a memorable dinner with Thomas last summer, and went down for the gathering. She was still puzzling over the numbers Violet had given her. Lady Longtree, William, Alan, Claudine, Richard, Rachel, Violet and herself made eight. Hans made nine, if he wasn't still under arrest. She should have asked about that, too. But who were the others?

Alan walked in the door at just that moment. He had a pack on his back, and was followed by the red-haired lady, who now had her long russet tresses piled atop her head. She too had a pack on her back. Laura stared in astonishment at the four small feet that stuck out the bottom of the packs.

"I should like you to meet my wife, Rose," Alan said with a grin. "I gather you have seen her once or twice before – and the twins."

"I never thought of that," Laura admitted as she greeted Rose. "I guess I'm so used to looking for devious clues that I don't think of the obvious answer."

"An occupational hazard, I fear," Alan agreed.

"You do run unusually eventful tours," Laura teased him. "I remember hoping I wouldn't be bored and I certainly wasn't. There was never a dull moment, and a good deal of unusual entertainment."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Violet keeps recruiting me for cases that involve travel but I fear this must be the last. In my former life I was a carefree bachelor and leaping about the world at a moment's notice was easy, but now..." He gestured toward the twins.

Laura laughed. "I can see the conflict. Perhaps you had better stick to a less dramatic way of life for a while." She sighed. "I'm afraid my own life is going to seem awfully dull after this. I'm becoming addicted to adventure."

"Be careful what you wish for," Rose warned with a mischievous smile. "Violet is a great recruiter."

"I most certainly am," Violet agreed, appearing beside them. "And Laura is an excellent candidate. Hi, Rosie darling. I'm glad you've finally met Laura. She was convinced you were Alan's paramour – and a villain, since she found one of your long red hairs in that scarf you loaned me.

"Rather more aptly named than me, don't you think?" Violet added.

Laura gulped. "You mean she's your -"

"My baby sister," Violet agreed. "And Alan's wife and the proud mother of twins who make their life confusing but are quite adorable, if you like babies."

"I do." Rachel had joined them. Her long blond hair was twisted into a chignon, and her lithe body was encased in a stunning rose-colored suit. A tall good-looking man in a tan trench coat was behind her. Laura regarded him uncertainly. He was beautifully dressed, his elegant appearance marred only by the fact that one arm was in a sling and a faint bruise still clung to one cheek. He also looked familiar.

"We have met, I believe," he teased her. "I don't usually dress like this but Rachel made me. She said she wanted to see your face."

Rachel laughed. "It was worth it. Yes, this is the trench coat man, as you termed him, superior attitude and all. He also happens to be my husband, Detective Sergeant Carlson. He is recovering from various wounds incurred in the line of duty. He was a bit nervous when I got assigned to you after him."

"Oh for goodness sake! I really do apologize." Laura was mortified. Who else had she misjudged?

He smiled at her. "Actually, you paid me a compliment. Your reaction meant my disguise was working. Normally I prefer jeans."

Laura winced. "The other one who followed me we called the jeans man," she explained. "He turned out to be Roger Brown."

"Then I shall know better than to wear jeans around you," he replied amicably. "And I really am glad to meet you in person."

Richard and Claudine, looking beautiful in flowing ivory silk, arrived next. Their exchange of greetings was interrupted by the arrival of William, this time dressed in an actual suit, and Lady Longtree, who was definitely Olivia now. Her small frame was swathed in a deep blue dress that hung gracefully to her ankles and accentuated the brilliance of her eyes. A streak of white showed against her dark hair, but her face was unlined. She wasn't wearing a hat. Laura felt curiously intimidated. Here indeed was the well-known barrister, the woman whose verbal skills were respected all over the country.

"Don't pull that on me," Olivia instructed, watching Laura's face closely. "I really am not very frightening, am I Hans?" she added to the man beside her.

"No, sometimes you aren't," he replied, his blue eyes twinkling. "At other times, one must admit..."

"Well, I'm not in court now," she interrupted crossly, and Hans laughed.

Laura turned to greet him and her eyes widened in shock. He was the same size as Hans and had the same coloring, but he wasn't the Hans she had known. This man had an air of authority about him, understated but obvious, that hadn't been there before, and his accent was subtly different.

"Our dominant male," William murmured. "I told you he would appear."

Hans smiled. "I don't believe we've met," he said to Laura. "I am very glad finally to have the opportunity. I also have the advantage of knowing quite a lot about you, while you have been sadly deceived about me, thanks to my impersonator."

"He got mugged on the way to the airport to join the tour," William explained, "and someone stole his identity."

Hans rubbed his head, which was no longer covered in bandages but bore fading evidence of multiple scratches and bruises. "They weren't gentle about it, either. Took me a while to recover enough to know who I was."

"Mrs. Takara plans well ahead," Olivia added. "She wanted her own spy in our midst. Unfortunately for Hans, she had a look-alike for him, so he was chosen. What she didn't know – couldn't possibly know since she thought I was my mother – was that Hans and I are close friends. I was a bit baffled at first, but once I checked out the fake one at closer quarters, the deception was obvious, so we had him picked up."

Laura smiled to herself. So that was what the midnight tryst had been about! But how had Olivia managed to achieve closer quarters as Lady Longtree?

That fascinating speculation was interrupted when a young woman holding a baby hurtled into the room. William caught her in his arms and they danced around the room in an exuberance of high spirits, tears of joy and exclamations of delight.

After that, the party roared. Alan appeared with exactly the right drink in his hand for each of them, waiters with canapés appeared like magic, and as they all sat down to dinner it occurred to Laura for the first time to wonder who was footing the bill for all of this. The hotel had said nothing about charges.

Hans was sitting beside her. "Lovely party they've laid on," he said, as if he had intuited her question.

"I wondered about that," Laura admitted. "Who are they?"

He chuckled. "An excellent question. They are quite an illustrious line-up. My organization helped and I believe Olivia talked some of her barrister friends into making contributions, as did Violet. There are a number of powerful people in this country who wanted the perpetrators, as well as the wealthy tyrants who were their clients, put out of business. So for once there was an adequate budget."

William, who was on his other side, asked him a question and a lively discussion of music ensued. Laura took the opportunity to observe everyone. William looked as if a burden had been lifted from his young shoulders, Olivia was holding court with her vivacious wit and quick intellect; Rachel and her husband were listening intently and trying not to seem awed. Claudine, she noticed, put in an occasional and well-received comment. Richard looked as if he were storing it all up for future articles.

And Violet; like herself, Violet was watching. Laura smiled. This was where she had come in, seeing Violet across the room surveying the people around her with those hawk-like amber eyes that missed nothing.

When dinner was over, they all filed into the big room with the French doors for coffee. The atmosphere was completely different now. Soft evening light filtered through the doors, and the floral scents of honeysuckle and roses floated in the air.

Violet came to stand beside her. "You will come back to see me?" she asked gruffly. "I have to be able to count on that."

"Yes. I will." Laura's eyes brightened. "Maybe I ought to work on a few more cases so I'll get better at seeing through people's disguises. I seem to have missed almost all of them on this one."

"You've been a great help regardless," Violet answered. "But if you really do want to practice your people-watching skills," she continued with a wicked gleam in her eyes, "I might be able to suggest a creative job in a lovely spot. First, do you ski?"

Laura gaped at her. "I used to, downhill that is, and I suppose I could pick it up again. I've done mostly cross-country recently."

Violet looked delighted. "Better and better," she murmured. "Have you ever thought of taking a winter vacation in Switzerland?"

"I certainly have," Laura answered, mystified by this line of questioning, "but I'm afraid it's beyond my budget so far."

Violet waved a dismissive hand. "Hans has a place in the mountains where you can stay, and we'll make sure you're paid. Now," she went on briskly, "the people involved in the conference – which is in your field since it involves restrictions on girls' education in various parts of the world - will be spread all over town but we'll try to put the most at risk ones in the same hotel. On second thought, maybe you should stay there. Yes, that would be best. At any rate, I shall work it all out." She frowned, thinking furiously and muttering unintelligibly.

Laura laughed. "Violet, you are a dynamo. A wonderful dynamo. And yes, I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about or getting me into, but whatever it is, I will do it gladly."

"It could be dangerous," Violet warned.

"It could," Laura agreed. "But that's not what I'll remember when I'm too old to take risks. It's the challenge, the camaraderie, the... the aliveness," she burst out. "That's what it is, the aliveness."

Violet grinned. "Good. Then our only difficulty will be keeping you alive in reality."

She sighed. "The party is breaking up and I must return to my suspects. But never fear. I shall be in touch in a few weeks. We have a great deal of planning to do."

So saying, she pulled Laura into a bear hug, held her for a long moment and whisked out the door.

Olivia, now wearing the feathered hat Laura had first seen in the Baths, came up to her. Perhaps she missed her role as Lady Longtree, Laura thought, and was playing the part one last time.

Olivia's eyes twinkled with merriment. "I overheard some of that," she said ingeniously, "and just in case you fear that life might be dull until Violet ropes you in again, I thought I would let you know that Hans and I will be in New York soon, where we will help to organize the conference on education for girls. Your expertise on gender issues would be a great help. So goodnight, my dear, and sleep well. We shall not have to say adieu."

With a smile and a wave, she went back to William and Maria. Laura stood looking after her and felt excitement rise. Between Thomas the insouciant art sleuth, Olivia the indomitable prosecutor, and Violet the gimlet-eyed detective, life after the tour hardly looked dull. In fact, so many adventures beckoned that she wondered when she would find the time to do her work.

In between karate lessons, she decided, and hurried up to her room to call New York and make the necessary arrangements.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR, JOAN DAHR LAMBERT:

I hope you have enjoyed WADING INTO MURDER, the second book in the Laura Morland Mystery Series. WALKING INTO MURDER, the first book, is available on kindle and in paperback. The third book, SKIING INTO MURDER, will soon follow.

SKIING INTO MURDER:

In her next adventure, Laura is invited to attend an international conference on Equal Education for Girls Across the World in the magnificent, snowy mountains of Switzerland. Violet, her delightful friend from WADING INTO MURDER, is there in her role as a detective. Threats have been made to kidnap the children of conference participants, and Violet wants Laura to help her figure out who among the illustrious conference guests might be involved in this nefarious plot. She is astounded when without even trying, Laura once again stumbles – in this case simply looks out a train window - into the midst of a crime in progress. To Laura's astonishment, she also stumbles into Thomas, her art detective love interest from WALKING INTO MURDER. Thomas is investigating a mystery of his own that turns out to be all tangled up with the job Laura and Violet are trying to do.

With her usual incautious abandon, Laura dives into the mystery while trying to keep track of the elusive Thomas and a bunch of children who have minds of their own. First, she is the sole witness to a murder she didn't know had happened, then she is plowed down by a body as she skis down an icy slope, and soon she is skiing for her life as well as the lives of the children for whom she is responsible. In these efforts she is ably assisted by another irresistible cast of characters, like the long-legged Dutch twins and their arch-enemy the all-too-upper-class English lad who bedevils them, the wondrous pair of African ladies whose humor and grace enchant Laura – and the incomparable Violet as well as the insouciant ever charming Thomas.

A great deal of the action in SKIING INTO MURDER is on skis (on which Laura feels singularly inept), though it must be said that quite a few of her clues are garnered at glamorous international parties held in places like Zermatt and Murren, second homes to the rich and famous. The manacle-filled cellars and high turrets of the Castle of Chillon, immortalized by Tennyson's poem of that name, and the dank interior of a long-forgotten bomb shelter are also the scene of some frantic action.

