DEATH BEFORE WICKET - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Death Before Wicket 0
Harcourt stood up in one fluid movement. As he passed the
wardrobe in which Bisset was concealed, he looked down as if
something fell from the pile. Then he passed on.
He laid his armload on the desk and sorted through it. Phryne,
who could see his face, thought it as pale as marble and completely
devoid of expression. Harcourt looked dead, except that he was
still moving. He picked up the ledgers and pushed them into the
bookcase, amongst the folios on the bottom shelf. He dropped
the hand axe behind them. He added the jewel case and the petty
cash tin. Then he stood up with the mock papyrus and a sheaf of
typed papers in his hands and walked out of the door.
The whole faculty followed him like hounds on the scent.
Marrin walked beside the acolyte, waving his wand as though
he was conducting. Barefoot, Harcourt paced down the steps
and out into the main building, then up another flight of steps
into the Fisher Library.
He threaded through the maze of bookcases without incident.
He opened a carrel and laid the sheaf of papers inside. Then he
walked back, towards the door.
‘But where is the papyrus?’ asked Ayers, in agony.
999
‘Dad?’
‘Joss?’ Vivian Hart woke at the sound of the voice.
‘Mum?’
‘I’m here, lambkin.’
‘I thought I imagined you,’ said Joss sleepily. ‘Can I have a
drink of water?’
Dolly Hart held the glass as he drank. Colour was coming
back into his face. He plucked at the pressure bandage, which
was uncomfortably tight, and Dolly took his hand. He tried to
sit up. His father assisted him.
‘I feel so tired,’ said Joss. ‘What’s happened to me?’
‘You were bitten by a snake. But you’ll be all right now,’
said Vivian Hart. ‘I’ll go and get the quack. Just hang on for a
moment, son.’ His feet made echoes as he ran from the room.