Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

Professor Dayton claws himself upright from the corner and fumbles for the black rotary phone on the side table. His hand shakes, but he gets a number turning.

Dallas stays braced behind the desk, revolver low, while the door gives another wet crack. Murderbone plants himself at the threshold, hackles high, all teeth and warning.

A fist punches splinters through the warped wood. The filing cabinet drawer hangs open, its contents spilling like pale bones across the carpet. Dayton snatches a loose page from the floor and presses it to his chest.

Murderbone lunges at the widening gap as the desk shudders under the next shove, and the study fills with splinter dust and the sound of footsteps gathering outside.

Dallas heaves the desk sideways. Wood grinds on carpet, then slams into the door with a dull, final thud.

The splintered panel rebounds once, then stops cold under the new barricade. Dayton staggers back from the phone, eyes locked on the seam.

Murderbone drops from his lunge and plants squarely in front of the desk, chest low, staring at the crack with a growl that never quite stops.

The voice outside shifts, but the shove does not return. Instead, footsteps scrape away down the hall, fast and angry.

Dayton clutches the loose page tighter, and the rotary phone still hums in his hand. The door stays shut, but something heavier moves somewhere outside, waiting for a better angle.

Dallas yanks the ledger from inside his coat and flips it open against his palm. The pages are dense with initials, room numbers, and route marks, but one folded insert stands out, a maintenance map with a service latch circled in pencil.

He traces the margin with one finger, then snaps the ledger shut. Dayton sees the movement and points toward the tall shelves by the window, still pale with panic.

Dallas crosses to the bookcase, finds the hidden catch, and locks it with a firm shove. The panel seals with a sharp click, turning the shelves into a dead weight against the door.

From the hall, the intruder’s hand slaps the splintered wood once, then pulls back. The study falls into a brittle silence broken only by Dayton’s breathing and the phone’s faint hum.

Dallas catches one more note in the ledger, a transfer stamp tied to the same office number as Pike’s bent keycard. Outside, footsteps recede, but not far enough to feel safe.

Dallas plants his shoulder against the desk, then shoves it harder into the door line. The splintered frame stops rattling, pinned by wood and muscle. Dayton flinches back from the noise, clutching his papers to his chest.

Murderbone backs toward the casement, ears up, giving the room one last hard look at the door. Dayton snatches the loose page from the floor and lunges after him, breathing shallow and fast.

Dallas swings the window open. Cold air and rain spill in from the ledge outside, washing the study in gray light.

He hands Dayton through first, then Murderbone springs onto the sill and drops to the ledge below without hesitation. The dog lands clean, already turning to watch the room.

Dallas follows, one hand still bracing the frame as he clears the window. Behind him, the desk groans under fresh impact from the hall, but the study holds long enough for the three of them to get outside.

Dallas snatches the route stamp, the bent keycard, and the loose papers in one fast grab, then kicks off the sill. The desk shudders behind him as he clears the frame with the evidence locked against his coat.

Rain hammers his shoulders as he drops into the alley below. Dayton recoils from the window, and Murderbone lands beside Dallas in a low, ready crouch, eyes fixed on the opening above.

Inside, the desk finally gives way with a brutal crack. The open window frame jolts, and cold air whips deeper into the study as the door pressure stutters for a heartbeat.

The alley gives Dallas no clean cover, only wet brick, a drop to one side, and the black mouth of the stairwell ahead. Murderbone squares toward the window, and Dayton clutches his phone with shaking hands.

From above, a fresh impact rocks the study wall. The window remains open, the evidence is in Dallas's grip, and the next move is forced by the noise in the room behind him.

Dallas hauls a rain-slick crate from the alley wall and slams it beneath the sill. The window shudders, then holds, the opening narrowed to a hard, awkward gap.

Murderbone surges up beside the crate, bracing his shoulder under the frame as if he can hold the whole room shut by force of will.

Above them, the study door slams once, then the impact stops short. The force on the room changes, no longer a breach in motion, just a trapped presence banging against a bad angle.

Rain spits through the narrowed gap onto the papers in Dallas’s coat. Inside, Dayton backs away from the sill, phone trembling in his hand, while the black shape in the hallway pulls off the door and loses leverage.

The window is effectively barricaded. The attackers cannot push through cleanly anymore, and the room settles into a tense, boxed-in silence that demands the next move.