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He moved fast. I ran recklessly downward, barely reaching the ground floor before he was on the landing above me. I sprinted for the front door, praying that it hadn’t been locked, the key gone from the keyhole. I’d never have time to pick it open.

The door had been bolted. Presumably, Mr. Jarrett had done that, or Miss Swann, making certain their prey did not escape.

There was a lock as well, but a key glistened in it. I wrestled with both bolt and key as Jarrett barreled down the hall at me. Once he caught me, I had no doubt he’d simply break my neck.

The bolt squealed backward. The moment I turned the key in the lock, Jarrett’s hand landed on my shoulder. I spun around and kicked him, hard, and as I expected, he closed his other hand around my throat.

At the same time, the door behind me burst inward. Jarrett grunted, his hold slipping. I wrenched myself from him and hurled myself out of the building, straight into the arms of Daniel McAdam.

Streaming around him were police constables in blue uniforms, and behind them came Inspector McGregor.

I staggered from Daniel, who was trying to hold me upright, reached into my pocket, and thrust the desk key at Inspector McGregor.

“That opens a drawer in Miss Swann’s office behind Mr. Zachary’s on the first floor,” I babbled. “You’ll find the paperweight she used to kill Mr. Stockley, along with evidence she could access any room in this building.”

Inspector McGregor stared at the key and from it to me. Then his scowl settled in place, and he snatched up the key and dashed into the building, bellowing orders to his sergeant.

“Kat.” Daniel’s voice sounded far away. “Kat, love. Bloody hell, what did he do to you?”

“Catch her,” I told Daniel. “She’ll know all the ways out. There are some back stairs that should come out in about the middle of each hall. Probably go all the way down to the coal cellar.”

Daniel wanted to stand here and hold me—and probably question me about my discovery of Miss Swann as the killer—but he understood what I meant. If Miss Swann escaped the police tonight, she’d find every way to prove she hadn’t done any of the things I’d accused her of, including locking me in the strong room and fetching Mr. Jarrett to kill me.

Daniel gently handed me to someone else—it was James, my blurred vision saw—and started inside.

“Please thump Mr. Jarrett for me,” I said, my voice waning. “He gave me such a fright.”

Daniel sent me a grim smile and ran in, calling to Inspector McGregor.

My legs gave way, and I found myself sitting on the stepunder the demure plaque that readDaalman’s, James cradling me.

“You’re all right, Mrs. H.” His voice had deepened, and he sounded so much like Daniel, I wanted to cry. “It’s all right. We’ve got you.”

25

My hopes that Sam would be set free instantly did not come to fruition. While the constables had dragged off Mr. Jarrett to the nearest nick, and Daniel and Inspector McGregor had stopped Miss Swann as she very coolly exited through the cellar door and climbed the stairs to the small passage behind the bank, both had to be charged, and a judge had to decide that the case against Sam was to be dismissed.

I was not to know all this until the next morning, however, because after I’d collapsed on the steps of Daalman’s, I lost all coherence.

James, the dear boy, got me into Lewis’s cab, and Lewis knew exactly where to take me. Both Lewis and James half carried me down Clover Lane, me by turns thanking them and insisting I’d be perfectly fine walking on my own, and into Joanna’s house.

I’d had no idea how bruised and battered I was until Iglimpsed myself in the small mirror on the hall tree and cried out in dismay. The left half of my face was purple and red, and a gash opened above my eyebrow. My hat had been torn, and its brim drooped over my right ear. Blood had seeped from the cut to stain my lips and chin, down into the collar of my frock. With my hair frazzled from the wind and my flight, I looked as though I’d been caught in a very bad hailstorm.

As I dazedly touched my face and hair, Joanna descended upon me, exclaiming her concern. Then Grace was there, and I couldn’t see anything else.

They put me to bed, Joanna and Grace fussing over me, the other children falling over themselves to bring me tea and cakes, or to change the water from the washbasin while Joanna doctored my wounds.

Grace stayed by my side, holding my hand and looking very worried. I tried to say something about James and Lewis, but Joanna shushed me, assuring me they’d been given a large meal and tea in the kitchen before they’d both departed.

I croaked out the story to Joanna, whose eyes widened at the tale. I hadn’t wanted Grace to hear the more frightening parts, but for some reason I couldn’t seem to release her hand. Grace hugged me hard when I got to the part about Mr. Jarrett assaulting me, and she called Mr. Jarrett a very bad name I wasn’t aware she knew.

After that I slept hard. A voice in the back of my mind told me I should be getting on with preparing supper, but my fright and exhaustion overcame me, and I fell into a profound sleep.

I woke in the morning sore and aching, my mouth parched. Joanna brought me breakfast on a tray as though I were a great lady.

I wedged myself up against the pillows, then groaned as I realized what waking in Joanna’s bed meant.

“I’ll be sacked,” I said mournfully. “My agency will not like that. I’ll have to scrub floors for the rest of my life.”