"But why?" The bewildered question came from Minnie.

Vane turned to face her. "If we knew that, we'd know a great deal more."

Later that night, by unanimous accord, they held a conference in Minnie's room. Minnie and Timms, Patience and Vane, gathered before Minnie's fire. Sinking onto the footstool beside Minnie's chair, one of Minnie's frail hands clasped in hers, Patience scanned the others' faces, lit by the flickering firelight.

Minnie was worried, but beneath her fragility ran a streak of pure stubborness, and a determination to learn the truth. Timms seemed to consider the malefactors in their midst as a personal affront, if not to her dignity, then certainly to Minnie's. She was doggedly fixated on unmasking the villains.

As for Vane... Patience let her gaze roam his features, more austere than ever in the shifting golden light. All hard angles and planes, his face was set. He looked like... a warrior sworn. The fanciful notion popped into her head, but she didn't smile. The epithet fitted all too well-he looked set on eradicating, annihilating, whoever had dared disturb Minnie's peace.

And hers.

She knew that last was true-the knowledge had come to her borne by the touch of his hands on her shoulders as he'd helped her with Gerrard, in the way his eyes had searched her face, watching for worry, for signs of distress.

The sensation of being within his protective circle was sweetly comforting. Even though she told herself it was only for now-for the present and not for the future-she couldn't stop herself drinking it in.

"How's Gerrard?" Timms asked, settling her skirts in the second chair.

"Safely sleeping," Patience replied. He'd turned fretful as the evening wore on, until she'd insisted on dosing him with laudanum. "He's snug in his bed, and Ada's watching over him."

Minnie looked down at her. "Is he truly all right?"

Vane, leaning against the mantelpiece, shifted. "There was no sign of concussion that I could see. I suspect that, other than a sore head, he'll be his usual self in the morning."

Timms snorted. "But who hit him? And why?"

"Are we sure he was hit?" Minnie looked at Vane.

Grimly, he nodded. "His recollections are clear and lucid, not hazy. If he was seated as he said, there's no way a falling stone could have struck him at that angle, with that sort of force."

"Which brings us back to my questions," Timms said. "Who? And why?"

"As to the who, it must be the Spectre or the thief." Patience glanced at Vane. "Presuming they're not one and the same."

Vane frowned. "There seems little reason to imagine they're the same person. The Spectre has lain low since I chased him, while the thief has continued his activities without pause. There's also been no hint that the thief has any interest in the ruins, while they've always been the Spectre's special haunt." He didn't mention his conviction that the thief was a female, and thus unlikely to have had the strength, or intestinal fortitude, to cosh Gerrard. "We can't rule out the thief as today's culprit, but the Spectre seems the more likely villain." Vane shifted his gaze to Timms's face. "As for the why, I suspect Gerrard saw something-something he may not even realize he's seen."

"Or the villain thought he saw something," Timms replied.

"He's really very good with noting detail," Patience said.

"A fact the whole household knew. Anyone who's ever seen any of his sketches would be aware of the detail he includes." Vane stirred. "I think, given the disappearance of his last sketch, that we can safely conclude that he did indeed see something someone didn't want him to see."

Patience grimaced. "He doesn't remember anything special about what he'd sketched."

Vane met her gaze. "There's no reason whatever it is would appear out of the ordinary to him."

They fell silent, then Minnie asked, "Do you think he's in any danger?"

Patience's gaze flew to Vane's face. He shook his head decisively. "Whoever it is knows Gerrard knows nothing to the point, and poses no real threat to Gerrard now." Reading a lack of conviction in all their eyes, he reluctantly elaborated, "He was lying out there for hours, unconscious. If he was a real threat to the villain, said villain had ample time to remove him permanently."

Patience shuddered, but nodded. Both Minnie's and Timm's faces grew bleak. "I want this villain caught," Minnie declared. "We can't go on like this."

"Indeed." Vane straightened. "Which is why I suggest we remove to London."

"London?"

"Why London?"

Resettling his shoulders against the mantelpiece, Vane looked at the three faces turned up to him. "We have two problems-the thief and the Spectre. If we consider the thief, then, while the thefts don't follow any rhyme or reason, the chances of the perpetrator being one of the household is high. Given the number of items stolen, there must be a cache somewhere-we've virtually eliminated any possiblity that the stolen goods have been sold. If we remove the entire household to London, then, as soon as we leave here, the staff, all of whom are above suspicion, can start a thorough search. Simultaneously, when we arrive in London, I'll arrange for all the luggage to be searched as well. In a house in London, further thefts and the hiding of items taken will be much more difficult."

Minnie nodded. "I can see that. But what about the Spectre?"

"The Spectre," Vane said, his expression growing grimmer, "is the most likely candidate for our" villain of today. There's no evidence that the Spectre comes from outside-he's most likely one of the household. All that went before-the sounds and lights-could have been someone searching the ruins by night, when no one else was about. Today's events presumably arose because Gerrard unknowingly got too close to something the Spectre doesn't want seen. All that's happened suggests that the Spectre wants to hunt in the ruins without anyone else about. By removing to London, we give the Spectre precisely the situation he wants-the ruins, deserted."

Timms frowned. "But if he's one of the household, and the household's in London..." Her words faded as understanding lit her face. "He'll want to come back."

Vane grinned humorlessly. "Precisely. We'll just need to wait and see who makes the first move to return."

"But will he, do you think?" Minnie grimaced. "Will he persist, even after today? He must realize he needs to be more careful now-he must fear being caught."

"As for fearing being caught, I can't say. But"-Vane's jaw firmed-"I'm quite sure, if it's the empty ruins he wants, he won't be able to resist the opportunity of having them all to himself." He caught Minnie's eye. "Whoever the Spectre is, he's obsessed-whatever it is he's after, he's not going to give up."

And so it was decided: The whole household would remove to London as soon as Gerrard was fit enough to travel. As he did a final round of the silent, sleeping house, Vane made a mental list of preparations to be put in train tomorrow. The last leg of his watchman's round took him along the third floor of the west wing.

The door of Gerrard's room stood open; soft light spilled across the corridor floor.

Silently, Vane approached. He paused in the shadows of the doorway and studied Patience as, seated on a straight-backed chair set back from the bed, her hands clasped in her lap, she watched Gerrard sleep. Old Ada dozed, sunk in the armchair by the fireplace.

For long, uncounted moments, Vane simply looked-let his eyes drink their fill-of Patience's soft curves, of the sheening gloss of her hair, of her intrinsically feminine expression. The simple devotion in her pose, in her face, stirred him-thus would he want his children watched, cared for, protected. Not the sort of protection he provided, but protection, and support, of a different, equally important, sort. He would provide one, she would provide the other-two sides of the same, caring coin.

He felt the surge of emotion that gripped him; he was long past breaking free. The words he'd used to describe the Spectre rang in his head. The description applied equally well to him. He was obsessed, and was not going to give up.

Patience sensed his presence as he neared. She looked up and smiled fleetingly, then looked back at Gerrard. Vane curved his hands about her shoulders, then grasped and, gently but firmly, drew her to her feet. She frowned, but let him draw her into the circle of his arms.

Head bent, he spoke softly. "Come away. He's in no danger now."

She grimaced. "But-"

"He won't be happy if he wakes and finds you slumped asleep in that chair, watching over him as if he were six years old."

The look Patience bent on him stated very clearly that she knew precisely which string he was pulling. Vane met it with an arrogantly lifted brow. He tightened his arm about her. "No one's going to harm him, and Ada's here if he calls." He steered her to the door. "You'll be of more use to him tomorrow if you've had some sleep tonight."

Patience glanced over her shoulder. Gerrard remained sound asleep. "I suppose..."

"Precisely. I'm not about to leave you here, sitting through the night for no reason." Drawing her over the threshold, Vane pulled the door shut behind them.

Patience blinked her eyes wide; all she could see was darkness.

"Here."