Jake Ransom and the Howling Sphinx (4 page)

As Jake stepped out of the conservatory, he heard footsteps coming down the main passageway toward him. Jake flattened himself against the oak-paneled wall. A figure crossed the opening to the side hall and continued toward the rear of the house.

It was a skeleton of a man, toweringly tall and spider-thin. He carried a steel bat in one hand. As he disappeared out of sight, his harsh voice swelled, full of menace.

“
Where is it? Tell me now, or there'll be more trouble
!”

His question was punctuated by a loud crash of
splintering wood. Broken glass skittered across the limestone floor. A rough-skinned rock rolled into view. But it wasn't a
rock
. Jake knew that it was a fossilized tyrannosaurus egg. For more than a century, it had rested in the Cabinet of Curiosities of his great-great-grandfather Augustus.

The skeletal thief must have used his steel bat to smash open that cabinet. The main passageway was full of other display cases, each cabinet belonging to an ancestor, preserving treasures and artifacts collected by that explorer.

There was even a cabinet started by his father and mother out there.

White-hot anger surged through Jake as he pictured the would-be thief smashing that case into kindling. The fear that had held him in place burned away. He edged toward the kitchen. There was a telephone on the wall beside the pantry.

As he reached the kitchen door, he heard Aunt Matilda cry out from the front of the house. “We don't know what you're talking about! Leave Edward alone. Please!”

A slap of flesh sounded from the same direction, followed by a deep groan: masculine and heavy, yet still angry. Uncle Edward. Someone had just hit him. That meant there was at least one other intruder over by his aunt and uncle.

Barefooted, Jake slipped silently into the kitchen. He hurried to the phone, lifted the receiver from the wall,
and dialed 911. He put the phone to his ear but heard nothing. No dial tone. Jake's heart climbed into his throat. They must have cut the phone line.

Now what?

Before he could decide, a large hand clamped over his mouth and nose. Massive arms yanked him to a stone-hard chest. Jake fought, but it was like wrestling a Greek statue come to life.

Hot breath hissed at him. “Quit squirming, lad.”

The voice was a low whisper, meant for his ears only, but it still held a familiar British lilt.

Jake twisted enough to catch a glimpse of his captor. Craggy features, granite gray eyes, black hair clipped to his skull. The man's lipless mouth twisted into a stern grimace. Jake flinched with recognition. So he hadn't been mistaken back at town.

Morgan Drummond.

“I'm trying to help you, boy. So calm down.”

From the furtiveness of his words, the man was plainly trying not to be heard by the intruders. Jake didn't trust Morgan—not fully—but at the moment, he didn't have any other choice.

When Jake nodded, Morgan let go of him and waved him into a crouch. “You stay here. Out of sight.”

The head of security for Bledsworth Sundries and Industries had shed his suit jacket and wore only a tight pullover shirt. He pulled a black pistol from a shoulder
holster and rushed toward the dining room that connected to the main hall near the back of the house.

Once Morgan was gone, Jake didn't wait. He wasn't going to hide while his aunt and uncle were in danger. Moving silently, he slipped out the same door he'd entered and returned to the side hall. As he stepped out, Morgan Drummond's voice boomed like a cannon blast from the rear of the house.

“DROP YOUR WEAPON! ON THE GROUND!”

A sharp curse answered him, followed by the crack of a pistol.

The tall, skinny thief dove into the side hall from the main passageway. A bullet ricocheted off the limestone floor at the man's heels. The skeleton with the bat was trying to escape.

Jake couldn't get out of the way in time.

The thief fell right onto him. The steel bat clanked across the floor.

Jake tried to scramble away, but clawlike hands snatched his uniform's collar. Before he could break free, a bony arm hooked across his throat, strangling him.

Heavy boots pounded down the passageway. Drummond appeared, now holding two pistols: one pointed down the side hall, one toward the foyer.

The thief swung Jake around, using him like a human shield. “Back off!” the skinny man squeaked at Drummond.

Morgan took in the scenario with a glance and obeyed. He took three large steps toward the rear of the house. The thief returned to the main hall, keeping Jake as a shield.

Once out in the hall, Jake caught sight of a second man in the foyer by the front door, a short bulldog with jowls to match. To the side, Aunt Matilda huddled at the entrance to the library. Her baker's cap was askew, her white curls tangled. She fixed Jake with a look of raw terror.

“Back to the car!” the skeleton shouted to the bulldog. “As long as we have the boy, they'll do what we want! Pay any price!”

The thief dragged Jake back with him.

They were going to kidnap him.

Jake met Drummond's glare down the hall. Both pistols pointed forward now, but the Brit plainly feared shooting and hitting Jake.

Reaching the foyer, Jake struggled to free himself, but his throat was clamped by a hard forearm.

The thief took a last step toward the door when a new noise intruded.

From the sweep of the main staircase, a baying howl flowed. A low brown shape hurtled down the steps, a furry torpedo.

“No, Watson!” Jake gasped out.

The old basset hound was past his fighting prime. At fourteen years, he was almost deaf and half blind. He must have slept through all of the commotion until the
booming gunshot woke him up and sent him charging.

Leaping off the last step, Watson flew to Jake's defense.

But he was no match for the strong thief. Jake's captor swung out his arm like a club and struck Watson in the shoulder, knocking the dog to the side.

Jake went blind with anger. Free of the choking arm, he ripped open the red belt that tied his uniform and shimmied out of his jacket, leaving the giant holding nothing but cloth.

Once free, Jake twisted and dropped to his back on the floor. He kept hold of his jacket's sleeve and yanked with all his strength.

The skeleton, caught by surprise, got pulled forward. Jake kicked up with both feet, hitting the man square in the face. Under one heel, bone crunched.

With a cry of surprise and pain, the thief let go of the jacket and stumbled over the door's threshold and down the front steps outside.

Morgan came running up. “Stay down!” he yelled to Jake, and dashed for the door.

But the thief's partner already had the car running. Jake heard the engine roar. Morgan's pistol cracked, but tires spun through gravel.

Jake sat up in time to see the sedan fishtail around the circular drive, crash through a section of garden, then blast away down the driveway. One of Morgan's shots shattered the rear window, but the sedan kept going and
disappeared over a wooded hill.

They'd both gotten away.

Morgan returned, his face beet red. He pointed at Jake. He plainly wanted to yell, to bluster; but instead he kept his words as taut as a bowstring. “Next time I tell you to keep out of sight, boy, bloody do it.”

Jake nodded, relieved.

Morgan crossed to the library. Uncle Edward was tied to an office chair. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his lower lip split and bleeding. But from the flush in his face, he was plainly more angry than hurt. Morgan and Aunt Matilda set about freeing him.

A whimper drew Jake's attention to the other side. Watson came limping up.

“Oh, no …”

Jake slid on his knees across the limestone floor to meet him. Watson wagged his tail, panting hard, tongue hanging. He looked more embarrassed than wounded. Still, Jake ran his hands over Watson's side to be sure. He felt no broken bones or ribs. Likely he was only bruised.

Jake hugged the old dog. He was more brother than hound. “I'm so sorry, Watson.”

Morgan appeared behind him. “It wasn't your fault.”

Jake stared up at him, then down the main hall. Half of the cabinets had been smashed open, the contents scattered or crushed, priceless treasures that went back generations: pinned beetles and rare butterflies, stuffed
extinct specimens, precious artifacts and totems from around the world, fossils from every era and epoch.

How much had been lost forever?

His voice was dull with shock. “Then whose fault was it?”

Jake swung to face his aunt and uncle. Aunt Matilda had straightened her cap and tucked her white curls back into order. She had already fetched an ice pack for her husband. Edward had it wrapped in a towel and pressed it over his swollen eye. He had never looked more frail.

Jake's heart ached.

Edward and Matilda were not really his aunt and uncle. The married couple had been friends of Jake's grandfather and had managed Ravensgate Manor for three generations. With no surviving relatives to look after Jake and Kady after their parents disappeared, the elderly couple had taken over their guardianship, while continuing to oversee the estate. The pair were as doting as any parents and sometimes as stern.

“What did the thieves want?” Jake asked.

Edward answered. He'd recovered his spectacles from the floor, but they were broken. “That's just it. It made no sense. They kept asking about your father's watch. The gold anniversary pocket watch.”

Jake felt his stomach sink. Now he knew
whose
fault all of this was. He only had to look in a mirror.

Matilda shook her head. “We tried to tell them that
it had vanished with Richard and Penelope, but they wouldn't believe us.”

Jake glanced down the hall toward his parents' cabinet. It was still intact. And lucky for that. Jake had hidden the watch inside the cabinet, where it belonged. For safekeeping, he had placed it inside an ancient Egyptian funerary jar on the bottom shelf.

After returning from Pangaea, Jake and Kady had made a pact to keep their adventures secret, to tell no one about the discovery of the pocket watch. Who would have believed their story anyway?

Morgan growled. “So the watch isn't here?”

After all that had happened, Jake almost caved in and told the truth. But suspicions still jangled through him. He did not fully trust Morgan. Could all of this have been a clever ruse? A fallback plan if the thieves failed to find the watch? It seemed odd that Morgan should show up here so suddenly. For that matter, what was the head of security for Bledsworth Sundries and Industries even doing in North Hampshire, Connecticut?

Jake remembered something his father had once told him:
all you have to do to keep a secret is to do nothing at all
. Of course, his father had been talking about the silence necessary to protect an archaeological dig site. Still, Jake took that advice now.

He said nothing.

Morgan shook his head. “Then you're right. It makes
no sense. Lucky I was keeping tabs on your family.”

“What?” Jake gulped out, shocked and surprised. “Why?”

“Because Bledsworth Sundries and Industries cleans up its own messes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I fear the event we sponsored at the British Museum last April and the publicity generated by your appearance may have stirred up unwanted attention aimed your way. Since you returned home, we've been keeping tabs. Then, two days ago, my local sources picked up chatter of a possible burglary attempt. I came out to investigate.”

Jake wasn't entirely buying it. “So that was you back in town, wasn't it?” He couldn't keep an accusatory tone out of his voice.

Morgan's face tightened with what looked like shame. “I'm afraid so. And I'm afraid that incident with the automobile was also my fault.”

“What do you mean?” Jake asked.

“I only meant to steal your bike.”

“Steal my bike? What are you talking about?”

“I was trying to protect you, to delay your return home and keep you out of harm's way.” Morgan's expression turned sheepish and pained. “But when I got downtown, I found someone spying on you. I recognized one of the burglary team. I tried to grab him. But he released the parking brake on his sedan and darted out the far door.
I went after him, only realizing too late where the sedan was heading. I gave up pursuit and chased after the car, but it had gained too much speed. I couldn't catch up.”

Jake pictured the car smashing through the window. “You almost got me killed.”

Morgan held up a hand. “A miscalculation. The corporation will cover any damages.”

A miscalculation?

Jake stood there, stunned, unable to speak.

He was saved from responding by the sound of a heavy engine. They all turned toward the front door. Gravel crunched, and a small yellow school bus lumbered into view.

Morgan stepped to the door, his hand resting on his holstered pistol.

The bus swung around the circular drive and stopped. The door cranked open, and a tall, lithe figure in a cheerleading outfit stepped out. It was Jake's older sister, Kady. She swung her length of blond hair like a mane and cast a baleful glance back at the bus as she climbed the stone steps.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the welcome party on the front stoop. Her gaze stuck on Morgan, then flashed to Jake.

What's he doing here?
she asked silently.

Aunt Matilda pushed forward. “Thank goodness you're okay.”

Kady scrunched up her face. “As if riding in a school bus is ever
okay
. I've never been so humiliated.”

“What happened?” Aunt Matilda asked. “I thought Randy was driving you home after cheer practice.”

“He couldn't get his car started. The shop teacher thinks someone poured sugar in his gas tank.”

All eyes turned to Morgan.

He shrugged. “Kept her away, didn't it?”