The next night, however, Lovejoy went out to his club. Harry and Peter entered the library through the window shortly before midnight.

"Ah, there is the globe safe you mentioned," Peter murmured, starting toward it.

"I think we can forget the globe." Harry peeled back the edge of the carpet. "Lovejoy made no secret of it when I came here to speak to him the morning after Augusta and I discovered her vowels in it. He probably uses it chiefly as a convenient storage place for minor valuables and perhaps as a decoy. The Spider will doubtless have a second, better-hidden treasure chest."

"I see what you mean. Nothing much in here." Peter had gotten the globe open and was peering inside. He closed it again and began systematically going over the paneling at the far end of the room.

Twenty minutes later, Harry found what he was searching for when he tripped the hidden lock mechanism in a floorboard.

"I think this is what we want, Sheldrake." Harry lifted a small metal box out of the flooring. He went still, as a footstep in the hall announced a servant who was probably sneaking in late after a visit to a tavern. "We had best examine this elsewhere."

"Agreed." Peter was already halfway out the window.

An hour later, sitting comfortably in his own library, Harry got the metal box open. The first thing that caught his eye when he looked inside was the glitter of gems.

"The Spider appears to have taken his traitor's pay in jewels," Peter mused.

"Yes." Harry fished impatiently through the heap of precious stones that littered the bottom of the box: His fingers closed around a packet of papers and he lifted it out.

He flipped through them quickly and paused when a small notebook fell into his hand. He opened it and saw that for the most part there were only a few short, cryptic entries for dates and times that could have meant anything or nothing. The last note, however, was far more interesting. And far more disturbing.

"What have you got there?" Peter leaned forward for a closer look.

Harry read the note aloud. "Lucy Ann. Weymouth. Five hundred pounds for month of July. "

Peter looked up. "What the devil does that mean? Is the bastard keeping a ladybird in Weymouth?"

"I doubt it. Not to the tune of five hundred pounds per month." Harry was silent for a moment as he followed the logic of the situation. "Weymouth is not above eight miles from Graystone and it has an active harbor."

"Well, of course. Everyone knows that. So?"

Harry looked up slowly. "So the Lucy Ann is undoubtedly a vessel, not a wench. And the Spider appears to have paid someone, perhaps the ship's captain, the enormous sum of five hundred pounds for the month of July."

"That's this month. Why on earth would he have laid out that kind of blunt on a ship?"

"To assure that it be kept in readiness for an immediate departure, perhaps? The Spider was always fond of slipping away via a water route, if you will recall."

"Yes. He was, was he not?"

Harry closed the notebook, a cold feeling in his gut. "We must find him. Now. Tonight."

"I could not agree more, Graystone."

But Lovejoy had covered his tracks well. It took Harry and Peter most of the following day to discover that the Spider had already left London.

The first night back at Graystone, Augusta lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. She was conscious of every creak and squeak in the great house.

Earlier she had followed the footman around and watched closely as he locked every door and every window. She had checked to be certain the dogs had been bedded down for the night in the kitchens. The butler had assured her the house was secure.

"His lordship ordered special locks years ago, madam," Steeples had told her. "Very stout locks."

Nevertheless, Augusta could not sleep.

She finally shoved back the covers and reached for her wrapper. Picking up a taper, she lit it, slid her feet into a pair of slippers, and went out into the hall. She would just look in on Meredith one last time, she decided.

Halfway down the hall, she saw that the door to Meredith's room was open. Augusta broke into a run, shielding the fragile flame with one hand.

"Meredith?"

Meredith's bed was empty. Augusta forced herself to remain calm. She would not panic. Meredith's window was still securely locked. There were several logical explanations for the child's absence. She might have gotten up to get a drink of water. Or perhaps she had gone downstairs to get something to eat from the kitchens.

Augusta flew toward the staircase. She was halfway down when she glanced over the railing and saw a crack of light under the library door. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she hurried on down the stairs.

When she opened the library door, Augusta spotted Meredith instantly. The child was curled up in her father's big chair. She looked very tiny and fragile there. She had lit a lamp and there was a book in her lap. She glanced up when Augusta came into the room.

"Hello, Augusta. Did you have trouble sleeping, too?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I did." Augusta smiled to hide her enormous relief at finding the girl safe. "What are you reading?"

"I am trying to read the The Antiquary. It is rather difficult. There are a great many words."

"So there are." Augusta put her taper down on the desk. "Shall I read it to you?"

"Yes, please. I should like that very much."

"Let's go over to the settee. That way we can both sit together and you can follow along as I read."

"All right." Meredith slid out of Harry's massive leather chair and followed Augusta to the settee.

"First," Augusta said as she knelt briefly in front of the hearth, "I shall light the fire. It is rather chilly in here."

A few minutes later they were both comfortably settled in front of a roaring blaze. Augusta picked up the new novel that was being attributed to Walter Scott and began to read softly of missing heirs, treasure hunts, and perilous adventures.

After a while Meredith yawned and nestled her head on Augusta's shoulder. Several moments went past. Augusta eventually looked down and saw that her stepdaughter was asleep.

For a long time Augusta sat there watching the fire and thinking that she felt almost like Meredith's real mother tonight. She certainly felt as protective as a real mother.

She also felt very much like a real wife tonight, Augusta reflected. Surely only a wife could know this dreadful sense of uncertainty while she waited for her husband to return to her.

The library door opened softly and Claudia, dressed in a chintz wrapper, came into the room. She smiled when she saw Augusta curled up on the settee with Meredith asleep beside her.

"It seems we all had a problem getting to sleep tonight," Claudia whispered as she sat down near the settee.

"It appears so. Are you worried about Peter?"

"Yes. I fear he is inclined to be somewhat reckless. I pray he will not take any chances. He was terribly angry because of Sally's death."

"There was a great rage in Harry, too. He tried to conceal it, but I saw it burning in his eyes. He is really a very emotional man under that calm, controlled facade he shows to the world."

Claudia smiled. "I must take your word for that. Peter, on the other hand, conceals his emotions behind a cheerful, teasing mask. But he, too, feels deeply. I wonder why it took me so long to see the underlying seriousness of his nature."

"Probably because he is skilled at concealing his true feelings. Just as Harry is. Each, in his own way, has learned to be cautious about exposing his deepest thoughts and emotions. I suppose they both had far too much practice doing so during the war." And Harry had learned a great deal about self-control even before he had faced the dangers of intelligence work, Augusta thought, remembering the faithless women in the picture gallery.