Page 86 of Evidence of Evil
Laing.
He no longer carried the gun. Unless Murray had done the shooting and still held it? In fresh fear, Constance doubled over, trying to crawl instinctively toward Solomon. But how could she help him? She had no weapon.
The men wrestling on the ground did. A steel blade glinted in the light of the fire. Solomon’s pocketknife? Or Laing’s? It didn’t matter. Solomon was in possession, but Laing, on top of him, was trying to force the blade toward Solomon’s throat.
Laing’s head snapped back in response to Solomon’s punch, and they rolled again. This time, Solomon reared up astride the doctor, hurling the knife away to the far side of the road. Laing lashed out with his fist, but Solomon dodged it, keeping his balance and grasping the fist, bearing it down to the road with one hand while the other sought Laing’s free hand.
He was too late. The doctor grasped Solomon by the throat and squeezed.
Dear God. Constance staggered to her feet and hirpled across the road at speed, though every step was agony. The merrily burning gig lit up Solomon’s knife quite clearly. She grasped it with a sob, then nearly jumped out of her skin as Besty whickered into her ear.
As she advanced on the struggling men, she saw Laing now had both hands around Solomon’s throat. Solomon struck him in the face and then hard in the side. One of Laing’s hands loosened, and Solomon grasped it, slamming it back into the road.
Constance raised the knife, wondering wildly how she was meant to use it. Would she just get in Solomon’s way? Their movements were so quick, she could easily stab the wrong man. And even if she could reach the right one, could she really risk killing him?
In a flash, she knew she could, to save Solomon. She thought his gaze flickered up to her, but he was already winning the fight,clinging on to both Laing’s hands now while the doctor bucked furiously beneath him.
Then, quite suddenly, their positions changed. She could have sworn that Solomon initiated the roll, but with a cry of triumph, Laing emerged on top, with one of his hands free.
Now,Constance told herself.Stab him in the arm and he is ours and he won’t die… With a gasp, she raised the knife and swung it downward—and was shoved roughly out of the way.
Sarah Phelps held a shovel in both hands and brought it down hard on Laing’s head.
Constance let her arm fall. Solomon hadn’t been presenting her but Sarah with the target. He had seen her coming.
Laing collapsed onto him. Solomon threw him off and leapt to his feet.
“Thank you,” he said politely to Sarah, as though she had given him a cup of tea, but his eyes sought out Constance as he closed the distance between them and swept his arm around her, holding her up as though he knew her ankle was screaming in pain.
It was, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except his safety, his hold. For an instant, she let her forehead drop against his heaving chest.
“He won’t stay like that forever,” Sarah said crossly. “I can tie him with something, but you’ll have to put him in the barrow.”
Constance began to laugh.
*
Constance could dolittle but supervise as Solomon and Sarah tied the unconscious Laing’s wrists with bootlaces and his ankles with Solomon’s necktie. Solomon was heaving him into the wheelbarrow when Murray appeared, his hair wild, his eyes large and frightened.
“What the devil has been going on?” he demanded. “Did you hear shots? Dear God, was that our gig? Where is Betsy?” His jaw dropped as Solomon straightened, revealing the contents of the barrow. “Dr. Laing!”
“Wheel the barrow,” Solomon commanded, returning to support Constance. “May we use your house, Mrs. Phelps?”
“Why not?” The old woman coughed. “Everyone else has.” She put her hand on Betsy’s neck, and both elderly females began to walk. Murray followed, wheeling the barrow with some difficulty, while Solomon and Constance brought up the rear.
It seemed somehow inevitable that they run into Humphrey and Elizabeth at Sarah’s gap in the hedge. More surprising, and filling Constance with hope, was the fact that they were hand in hand.
“Someone should fetch Inspector Omand from the inn,” Solomon said.
“Oh, I think he’ll be here,” Humphrey said. “There’s a whole gaggle trailing up from the village, and from The Willows. If nothing else, they can clear up the mess. Er…what was the fire? And why is Dr. Laing in a wheelbarrow?”
Solomon said calmly, “The fire was the doctors’ gig, in which I was bringing Constance home. She has sprained her ankle. Laing is in the wheelbarrow because Mrs. Phelps hit him with a shovel.”
“How does a gig go on fire?” Elizabeth wondered aloud, while Humphrey’s jaw dropped.
“With the aid of a burning lantern thrown beneath it,” Solomon said.
“By Dr. Laing, if you’re wondering,” Constance added. It was beginning to be fun again, watching all the expressions from the shelter of Solomon’s arm.
