Minnie held up her fingers. "Whitticombe, of course. I told you of his studies?" Vane nodded. Minnie went on: "Then there's Edgar-he's read all the biographies of the abbots and those of the early Bellamys. He has quite an interest there. And I should include the General-the ruins have been his favorite walk for years." She progressed to her last finger. "And Edmond with his play-and Gerrard, of course. Both spend time in the ruins-Edmond communing with his muse, Gerrard sketching." She frowned at her hand, having run out of fingers. "And lastly, there's Patience, but her interest is simply abiding curiosity. She likes to poke about on her walks."

Vane could imagine. "None of the other women or Henry Chadwick has any particular interest?"

Minnie shook her head.

"That's quite a cast of characters-five men all told."

"Exactly." Minnie stared at the fire. "I don't know what worries me more, the Spectre or the thief." She heaved a sigh, then looked up at Vane. "I wanted to ask, dear boy, if you would stay and sort it out."

Vane looked down, into Minnie's face, at the soft cheeks he'd kissed innumerable times, at the bright eyes that had scolded and teased and loved him so well. For one instant, the image of another face interposed, that of Patience Debbington. Similar bone structure, similar eyes. Fate, once again, stared him in the face.

But he couldn't refuse, couldn't walk away-every particle of his Cynster character refused to consider it. Cynsters never accepted defeat, although they often courted danger. Minnie was family-to be defended to the death.

Vane refocused on Minnie's face, her own once again; he opened his lips-

A shrill scream split the stillness, rending the night.

Vane hauled open Minnie's door before the first echo faded. Less intense screeches guided him through the maze of the Hall, through the ill-lit corridors, up and down stairways joining the uneven levels. He tracked the screams to the corridor in the wing opposite Minnie's, one floor up.

The source of the screams was Mrs. Chadwick.

When he reached her she was near swooning, propped against a side table, one hand pressed to her ample breast.

"A man!" She clutched Vane's sleeve and pointed down the corridor. "In a long cloak-I saw him standing there, just in front of my door." *

The door in question was shrouded in gloom. Only one sconce holding a single candle lit the corridor, casting a weak glow by the intersection behind them. Footsteps came hurrying, pounding on the polished floors. Vane put Mrs. Chadwick from him. "Wait here."

Boldly, he strode down the corridor.

There was no one lurking in the shadows. He strode to the end, to where stairs led up and down. There was no sound of retreating footsteps. Vane retraced his steps. The household was gathering about Mrs. Chadwick-Patience and Gerrard were there; so, too, was Edgar. Reaching Mrs. Chadwick's door, Vane set it wide, then entered.

There was no one in the room, either.

By the time he returned to Mrs. Chadwick, she was bathed in light cast by a candelabrum Patience held high and sipping water from a glass. Her color had improved.

"I'd just come from Angela's room." She glanced fleetingly at Vane; he could have sworn her color deepened. "We were having a little chat." She took another sip, then continued, her voice strengthening, "I was going to my room when I saw him." She pointed down the corridor. "Right there."

"Standing before your door?"

Mrs. Chadwick nodded. "With his hand on the latch."

Just going in. Considering the time it had taken him to traverse half the house, the thief-if that's who it had been-would have had ample time to disappear. Vane frowned. "You said something about a cloak."

Mrs. Chadwick nodded. "A long cloak."

Or the skirts of a woman's dress. Vane looked back down the corridor. Even with the additional light thrown by the candelabrum, it would be hard to be sure if a figure was male or female. And a thief could be either.

"Just think! We could be murdered in our beds!"

All heads, and it was indeed all-Minnie's household had assembled in its entirety-swung Angela's way.

Eyes huge, she stared back. "It must be some madman!"

"Why?"

Vane had opened his mouth to voice the question; Patience beat him to it. "Why on earth would someone come all the way out here," she continued, "struggle into this particular house, go to your mother's door-and then vanish as soon as she screamed? If it was a madman intent on murder, he had plenty of time to do the deed."

Both Mrs. Chadwick and Angela stared at her, stunned by her ruthless common sense.

Vane forced his lips straight. "There's no need for melodrama-whoever it was is long gone." But possibly not far away.

The same thought had occurred to Whitticombe. "Is everybody here?" He looked about, as did the others, corn-firming that indeed, everyone was present, even Masters, who stood at the back of the crowd. "Well, then," Whitticombe said, scanning the faces, "where was everyone? Gerrard?"

Vane was quite sure it wasn't chance that had brought that name first to Whitticombe's lips.

Gerrard was standing behind Patience. "I was in the billiard room."

"Alone?" Whitticombe's insinuation was transparent.

Gerrard's jaw set. "Yes, alone."

The General grunted. "Why on earth would someone spend time in the billiard room alone?"

Color crept into Gerrard's cheeks. He flicked a glance at Vane. "I was just knocking a few balls around."

That swift glance was enough for Vane; Gerrard had been practicing shots, waiting for him to come down. The billiard room was precisely the sort of place a gentleman such as he might be expected to choose to spend an hour or so before retiring. Indeed, if events had not taken the course they had, he would have gone there himself.

Vane didn't like the accusing stares that were being aimed at Gerrard. Neither did Patience, Minnie, or Timms. He spoke before they could. "That's you accounted for. Where was everyone else?"

He made each one state their last location. Bar himself and Minnie, Angela, Mrs. Chadwick, Patience, and Timms, not one had been in sight of anyone else. Whitticombe had returned to the library; Edgar had gone in to retrieve a tome, then retreated to the back parlor. Edmond, oblivious to all once his muse had taken hold, as apparently it had, had remained in the drawing room. The General, irritated by Edmond's spontaneous spoutings, had slipped back to the dining room. From his deepened color, Vane suspected the brandy decanter had been his goal. Henry Chadwick had retired to his room.

When Vane asked for her whereabouts, Alice Colby glared at him. "I was in my room, one floor below this."

Vane merely nodded. "Very well. I suggest that now the thief is long gone, we should all retire."

In the face of that dampeningly dull suggestion, most of the party, muttering and grumbling, did so. Gerrard hung back, but when Patience noticed and gave him a push, he shot an apologetic glance at Vane and went. Predictably, Patience, Minnie, and Timms stood their ground.

Vane eyed their set faces, then sighed and waved them back. "In Minnie's room." He took Minnie's arm, concerned when he felt how heavily she leaned on him. He was tempted to carry her, but knew her pride of old. So he matched his pace to hers. By the time they reached her rooms, Timms had the fire blazing and Patience had plumped the cushions in Minnie's chair. Vane helped her to it and she sank down with a weary sigh.

"It wasn't Gerrard."

The trenchant statement came from Timms. "I can't abide how they all cast suspicion his way. They're making him a scapegoat."

Minnie nodded. Patience simply met Vane's eyes. She stood by Minnie's chair, head up, hands clasped too tightly before her, daring him to accuse her brother.

Vane's lips twisted wryly. "He was waiting for me." Strolling forward, he took up his customary position, shoulders propped against the mantelpiece. "Which, the last time I checked, wasn't a crime."

Timms sniffed. "Exactly so. That much was obvious."