CHAPTER 1THE DOGS AND THEIR MASTER
LAUREL saw at once that the drawbridge was not really a drawbridge, because it could not be raised or lowered. It spanned a flagstone courtyard, fifteen feet below the level of the road, where two stone benches with claw feet were chill in the February twilight. It led to an oak door in the base of the tower.
If this place had been built of stone instead of white stucco, she thought, it would look much more like a castle.
She glanced at Jeff. His eyes were following the high white brick wall at the road’s edge, a wall which seemed to run entirely around the small estate. She glanced again at the tower, just as the oak door opened inward.
Three dogs burst out; the air was suddenly shaken with barkings as they pelted toward them. The great Dane planted
