witch cult going strong, well, a good many people are going to stay home at night. And they’re not going to report a couple of cloaked, muffled figures they might see on a back road. It’s worked very well.”
“Until now,” she told him.
“You’re only a very small annoyance, not a setback.”
“What do you expect to do with me, Sam, keep me a prisoner forever?”
“Oh, no, Anne, I have something much more interesting planned for you,” he answered. “I’ve been preparing my fold for something like this for a long time, just in case we had to get rid of a meddler.”
“Preparing them for what?”
“A human sacrifice,” he said.
MacMurdie landed, after a drop of what felt like six or seven feet, on a stone floor.
“What is it?” called out a voice in the blackness. “What’s that?”
“ ’Tis Fergus MacMurdie, feeling none too bright.”
“Mac!” said John Ruyle. “It’s me, John.”
“Ah, ’tis happy I am to find ye’re alive and kicking.”
“Alive, at least,” said his friend. “Do you have any idea, Mac, what’s going on?”
“Aye, I’ve got a few,” replied the Soot.
“I mean, where are we exactly?”
“ ’Twould be my guess there’s some sort of underground passageway system been built beneath one of your old burying grounds or kirkyards. These birkies are using it for their own purposes.”
“I thought I knew what their purposes were, Mac,” said Ruyle in the absolute dark. “Now, I’ve been thinking all the time I’ve been down here, I’m not as sure.”
“The witches,” said Mac, “are only part of it.”
“Yes, that’s what I concluded. But what else are they up to?”
“We have to get out of here,” said Mac, “and find out just that.”
CHAPTER XV
Famous Last Words
Nellie knocked on the connecting door, then stepped into the Avenger’s room. “Everybody,” she announced, “seems to be elsewhere.”
Benson had been sitting, fingers peaked beneath his jaw, in a chair by the window. Heavy rain pattered on the glass behind his head. “Where?”
The little blonde crossed the flowered rug. “This is a small, somewhat old-fashioned, town,” she said. “They’ve got their secrets, of course, but everybody seems to know a heck of a lot about what everyone else is up to. The desk clerk told me, when I tried to call Mac’s room, that nobody’s seen him since last night.” She frowned. “He says the police are looking into it.”
“The police?” Benson stood up. “Why?”
“Apparently the clerk got worried,” explained Nellie. “Some gent who does odd jobs for the inn saw Mac leap out of his room last night at the witching hour. Clerk says all sorts of people have been asking for Mac, so he decided maybe he was missing.”
“Who was asking for him, besides Cole and Smitty?”
Sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed, Nellie took out a notebook from her purse. She flipped it open and read to the Avenger what the clerk had told her about Anne Barley and about the arrival of Cole and Smitty, She slammed the book shut, adding, “The chief of police let Cole and Smitty poke around Mac’s room, but they didn’t find anything. Right now, Cole and our resident giant are out looking for this Barley girl. Which is what you’d expect Cole to be doing.”
“I wonder,” said the Avenger, “how long I can go on posing as an absent-minded scholar here to do a paper on the witch trials of the seventeenth century?”
Nellie glanced at her tiny wristwatch. “I’d give it another two hours,” she said. “As I told you, the people around here seem to know what you’re up to before you do. I imagine half of Nightwitch is gossiping about us right now.”
“I’m convinced, which is why I decided to come here myself, that Mac’s witches tie in with the rise of sabotage in this area,” he said. “So we’ve got to . . .” He took hold of the minature sending and receiving set built into the buckle of his belt. “I’m going to
“Until now,” she told him.
“You’re only a very small annoyance, not a setback.”
“What do you expect to do with me, Sam, keep me a prisoner forever?”
“Oh, no, Anne, I have something much more interesting planned for you,” he answered. “I’ve been preparing my fold for something like this for a long time, just in case we had to get rid of a meddler.”
“Preparing them for what?”
“A human sacrifice,” he said.
MacMurdie landed, after a drop of what felt like six or seven feet, on a stone floor.
“What is it?” called out a voice in the blackness. “What’s that?”
“ ’Tis Fergus MacMurdie, feeling none too bright.”
“Mac!” said John Ruyle. “It’s me, John.”
“Ah, ’tis happy I am to find ye’re alive and kicking.”
“Alive, at least,” said his friend. “Do you have any idea, Mac, what’s going on?”
“Aye, I’ve got a few,” replied the Soot.
“I mean, where are we exactly?”
“ ’Twould be my guess there’s some sort of underground passageway system been built beneath one of your old burying grounds or kirkyards. These birkies are using it for their own purposes.”
“I thought I knew what their purposes were, Mac,” said Ruyle in the absolute dark. “Now, I’ve been thinking all the time I’ve been down here, I’m not as sure.”
“The witches,” said Mac, “are only part of it.”
“Yes, that’s what I concluded. But what else are they up to?”
“We have to get out of here,” said Mac, “and find out just that.”
CHAPTER XV
Famous Last Words
Nellie knocked on the connecting door, then stepped into the Avenger’s room. “Everybody,” she announced, “seems to be elsewhere.”
Benson had been sitting, fingers peaked beneath his jaw, in a chair by the window. Heavy rain pattered on the glass behind his head. “Where?”
The little blonde crossed the flowered rug. “This is a small, somewhat old-fashioned, town,” she said. “They’ve got their secrets, of course, but everybody seems to know a heck of a lot about what everyone else is up to. The desk clerk told me, when I tried to call Mac’s room, that nobody’s seen him since last night.” She frowned. “He says the police are looking into it.”
“The police?” Benson stood up. “Why?”
“Apparently the clerk got worried,” explained Nellie. “Some gent who does odd jobs for the inn saw Mac leap out of his room last night at the witching hour. Clerk says all sorts of people have been asking for Mac, so he decided maybe he was missing.”
“Who was asking for him, besides Cole and Smitty?”
Sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed, Nellie took out a notebook from her purse. She flipped it open and read to the Avenger what the clerk had told her about Anne Barley and about the arrival of Cole and Smitty, She slammed the book shut, adding, “The chief of police let Cole and Smitty poke around Mac’s room, but they didn’t find anything. Right now, Cole and our resident giant are out looking for this Barley girl. Which is what you’d expect Cole to be doing.”
“I wonder,” said the Avenger, “how long I can go on posing as an absent-minded scholar here to do a paper on the witch trials of the seventeenth century?”
Nellie glanced at her tiny wristwatch. “I’d give it another two hours,” she said. “As I told you, the people around here seem to know what you’re up to before you do. I imagine half of Nightwitch is gossiping about us right now.”
“I’m convinced, which is why I decided to come here myself, that Mac’s witches tie in with the rise of sabotage in this area,” he said. “So we’ve got to . . .” He took hold of the minature sending and receiving set built into the buckle of his belt. “I’m going to
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