The Kidnapped Bride (Redcakes Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

doors. He slipped on some kind of leaf and grabbed for the wall. After he knocked it off his shoe using the edge of a step, he continued climbing.
    He didn’t expect to see the door of Manfred Cross’s flat open when he arrived on his floor. Didn’t Lady Elizabeth have any sense of safety? He reached into his sock and pulled out the knife he kept concealed there, then crept along the wall, darting swiftly across the passage until he was against the doorjamb. He peered into the front room and saw no sign of movement, only devastation.
    A fainting couch and a wooden table were the main furnishings of the room. The table was heaped with kitchen wares, likely dumped from the cupboards, but the couch had been overturned, the upholstery slashed.
    He listened intently but didn’t hear any suspicious noise. Creeping forward, he peered into the single bedroom. While empty of people, the bedroom was full of feathers and mangled fabric. The mattress had been slashed and torn from the frame. The bedclothes were strewn around the floor, along with clothing scraps. The wardrobe gaped now, empty, and a small chest had been dumped on its side.
    Of Lady Elizabeth Shield there was no sign. He didn’t see bloodstains either. But now he thought about the vegetable matter on the stairs. He went back into the outer room and found no sign of any foodstuffs, only tableware and cooking paraphernalia, a little spilled salt. Had Lady Elizabeth been attacked on the stairs while returning with supplies? If so, some resident would likely have stolen her basket.
    He made a quick search of the place, to see if he could find anything the robbers had missed: the jewels that Cross had stolen or personal documents. Luck struck when he stepped near the bedroom window and felt a board creak. He used his knife to pry it up and found a bag containing a quantity of coins and a fine emerald necklace. A second bag contained some silver serving pieces and a sapphire ring. Shite. Dougal tucked the contraband into his coat. He’d take the silver and jewelry to the High Street police station but save the money for the use of Lady Elizabeth or Cross.
    Dismissing the idea of speaking to neighbors about what had happened because of his certainty that they would say nothing, and also mindful of the expensive items on his person, he went back down numerous flights of stairs, noting that the vegetable matter trail started the floor below the Cross flat and didn’t end until the steps just above the front lobby. A pity, that. She might have left a trail out of the door.
    He saw a constable’s trademark blue cape and reinforced top hat across the street and made his way to the man.
    After introducing himself, he explained the situation. “The debris seems fresh, and no one has stolen the contents of the flat as of yet. Have ye seen anyone carrying off a girl, or a girl running?”
    The constable shook his head, but his heavily lidded eyes and the dark circles beneath them didn’t give Dougal confidence that he would have noticed anything. “Nothing like that. I pass this way every two hours.”
    “That’s a long span of time in which something could happen.” Shite again.
    The constable agreed.
    Dougal went to the central police station and asked to speak to his usual contact, a detective who had been trained by the great James McLevy. Thomas Tippett was nearly thirty years into his storied career and showed it in his ponderous weight and heavy jowls.
    Dougal, well known by the officer on duty, was sent back to Tippett’s desk. The great man chewed on a cigar, his Wellington boots propped up on an open desk drawer. He appeared to be cogitating.
    Dougal dumped his two sacks on the desk, the contents rattling satisfactorily. Tippett opened his eyes, lazy as a cat.
    “What ye got, boy?”
    “Evidence relating to the Cross case.”
    Tippett poked one fat finger into the larger of the sacks. He lifted it and the emerald necklace came up, dangling from a yellowed