Matthew eased the door open. The hallway was clear. He quickly came out, hearing Lash’s voice talking from the dining room behind him as they were likely finishing up their breakfasts. He passed the parlor and had a start as he saw two men standing with their backs to him before the fire, one listening to the other speak. The foyer and the front door were unguarded, and there before him was the table on which stood the basket of weapons. He reached in and retrieved his ivory-handled dagger, which he slid into his waistband. Then he took hold of Julian’s four-barrelled wonder, and the wonder of it was that anyone could manage as heavy a thing as that. He put both guns down on the table and opened the front door. At the gate the guard was still there but was smoking a pipe, looking out toward the park, and evidently had not seen the coach stop through the snow.

Matthew returned to the table, picked up the basket of weapons—a heavy weight indeed that made his shoulder muscles crack—and moving quickly he went out the door and dumped the whole load into the snowy shrubbery off to one side of the entrance staircase.

At that moment the guard turned, saw him, and spouted a huge cough of smoke.

Matthew threw the basket aside, went back in, closed the door and threw its latch.

“Hey there! What’re you doing?” someone called out.

Matthew spun around. The man who had just come down the stairs was one of those who had taken him to the room behind the pit and clouted him before stripping him naked. The man at first didn’t recognize Matthew. He came striding closer, as Matthew reached the table and picked up Bogen’s gun. The man abruptly stopped with a cry of alarm. He whipped open his jacket and began to pull out a pistol.

Matthew had no choice but to lift the gun and fire.

The sound of the gunshot was a small explosion. Through the bloom of acrid blue smoke Matthew saw the man clutch at his chest and fall, his own pistol going off and firing a ball into the ceiling. The racket was loud enough to raise Dippen Nack from the dead. Matthew grasped Julian’s gun and raced past the wounded man up the stairs.

The third door on the right. No need to try the lock. Matthew kicked at the door and felt as if his kneecap would burst. But he had no choice. As he was about to deliver another kick, the first door on the left opened and Lazarus Firebaugh emerged, wearing a gray silk nightgown and his eyes groggy with sleep. “Stay where you are!” Matthew shouted, levelling Julian’s pistol at him, and instantly his mouth dropped open and he froze.

“Matthew?” came Julian’s voice from behind the door. “What the hell … ?”