But that's what Chadwick assumed he'd do. T he son of a bitch was lying in wait.
As a result, the only thing to do was to outmaneuver him.
Oh, the best man would wm, all right.
And Chadwick would be dead.
Crompton jumped down lightly from the oak tree, glancing behind him at the sleeping guard. Scornfully, he noted the half-empty bottle clutched in the man's
Pathetic fool.
Turning away, he crept across the grounds, his black clothes invisible in the darkness of night's final hours.
He reached the manor.
This was where his original strategy ended, and his modified one began.
He squatted down in the bushes, remaining in the rear of the house rather than inching around front, as initially planned.
He edged his way along the outside wall, raising up a bit when he reached the kitchen window. He peered through, checking to see if the staff had appeared to begin preparing breakfast.
A cook and two scullery maids were moving about, starting their morning routine.
Splendid. Just enough people to suit his purposes, not so many as to obstruct his entry.
Silently, he dropped to the ground, choosing a spot next to the rear entrance—one with just a spotty number of evergreen shrubs. It wouldn't do to choose a denser patch. His goal was to cause a disturbance, not to burn the whole manor to the ground.
He struck the match.
It took two minutes for the fire to leap high enough to be seen, and for the fumes to be smelled as they seeped beneath the windows and door.
The kitchen staff reacted.
One of the scullery maids shrieked and dropped a frying pan, pointing to the curling wisps of smoke.
The cook grabbed a kettle of water and doused the area, only to realize the source of the fire was outside.
She flung open the door, wringing her hands as she saw the flames.
She swung around, shooing the two maids away, and gesturing toward the inside hallway.
The three servants dashed off to alert the household.
Crompton waited ten seconds. No more, no less. Then, he slipped inside, making his way straight to the pantry and concealing himself in a dim, barren alcove within it.
He pulled up a stool, sank down on it. Alert yet un-moving, he settled himself for the long hours that lay ahead.
He was an expert at lying in wait. It was one of the skills that had made him the froe general he was. He knew how to outlast the enemy, to create the illusion that the danger was gone.
Only then would he strike.
By 7 a.m., the flames were doused.
By 10 a.m ., the guards had given up patrolling the area. Having spied no one suspicious lurking about, they'd come to the conclusion that the fire was indeed an accident and bore no connection to the intruder they were guarding against.
Chadwick wasn't so certain.
He hovered at the scene, scrutinizing the shrubs and muttering to Hibbert, who had accompanied him outside to search the area.