Letting the tirade drift past him, Vane scanned the room, conscious of a curiosity to rival Patience's. The curtains were drawn tight. There was no fire in the hearth, not even embers. There was a palpable coldness, as if the room was never warmed, never aired. What furniture he could see was plain and utilitarian, with none of the items of beauty generally found scattered throughout the Hall. As if Alice Colby had taken possession of the room and stamped her character on it.

The last items he noted were a prie-dieu with a well-worn cushion, a tattered Bible open on the shelf, and the elephant of Mrs. Henderson's tale. This last stood beside the fireplace, its gaudy metal flanks glinting in the light lancing through the open door.

"What do you have to say for yourself, that's what I'd like to know. What excuse do you have for interrupting my prayers?" Alice folded her arms across her scrawny chest and stared black daggers at him.

Vane brought his gaze back to her face. His expression hardened. "I apologize for disrupting your devotions, but it was necessary. Minnie's pearls have been stolen. I wanted to know if you'd heard anything or seen anyone strange about."

Alice blinked. Her expression changed not at all. "No, you stupid man. How could I see anyone? I was praying!"

With that, she stepped back and shut the door.

Vane stared at the panels-and fought down the urge to break them in. His temper-a true Cynster temper-was never a wise thing to prod. Right now, it was already prowling, a hungry beast seeking blood. Someone had harmed Minnie; to some, not exactly small, part of his mind, that equated to an act of aggression against him. He-the warrior concealed beneath the veneer of an elegant gentleman-reacted. Responded. Appropriately.

Drawing a deep breath, Vane forced himself to turn from Alice's door. There was no evidence to suggest she was involved, any more than anyone else.

He headed back to the side door. He might not stumble instantly over the culprit by checking people's whereabouts, but, at present, it was all he could do. Having located all the women, he went in search of the other males.

Warring with his instinctive conviction that the "magpie" thief was a woman had been a half-fledged hope the whole affair might prove a simple misdemeanor-like Edgar, Henry, or Edmond being strapped for cash and being foolish enough, and weak enough, to be tempted to the unthinkable. As he strode over the lawn, Vane let that idea die. Minnie's pearls were worth a small fortune.

Their simple thief, assuming it was one and the same, had just made the step up to grand larceny.

The rains appeared deserted. From the wall of the cloisters, Vane saw Gerrard's easel, set up on the other side of the rains, facing the abbot's lodge, a section of woods at Gerrard's back. The paper pinned to the easel riffled in the breeze. Gerrard's pencil box sat beneath the easel; his painter's stool sat behind it.

All that, Vane could see. Gerrard he couldn't see at all. Assuming he'd taken a moment to stretch his legs and wander, Vane turned away. No point asking Gerrard if he'd seen anything-he'd left the breakfast table with one goal in mind and had doubtless been blind to all else.

Turning back into the cloisters, Vane heard, faint on the breeze, an intense mumbling. He discovered Edmond in the nave, sitting by the ruined font, creating out aloud.

When the situation had been explained to him, Edmond blinked. "Didn't see anyone. But then, I wasn't looking. Whole troop of cavalry might have charged past, and I wouldn't have noticed." He frowned and looked down; Vane waited, hoping for some help, however slight.

Edmond looked up, his brows still knit. "I really can't decide whether this scene should be acted in the nave or the cloisters. What do you think?"

With remarkable restraint, Vane didn't teH him. After a pregnant pause, he shook his head, and headed back to the house.

He was skirting the tumbled stones when he heard his name called. Turning, he saw Henry and the General striding up from the woods. As they neared, he asked: "You went for a stroll together, I take it?"

"No, no," Henry assured him. "I stumbled across the General in the woods. I went for a ramble to the main road-there's a track that leads back through the woods."

Vane knew it. He nodded and looked at the General, huffing slightly as he leaned on his cane.

"Always go out by way of the rains-a good, rousing walk over uneven terrain. Good for the heart, y'know." The General's eyes fastened on Vane's face. "But why'd you want to know, heh? Not into rambles yourself, I know."

"Minnie's pearls have disappeared. I was going to ask if you'd seen anyone acting strangely on your walks?"

"Good God-Minnie's pearls!" Henry looked shocked. "She must be terribly upset."

Vane nodded; the General snorted. "Didn't see anyone until I ran into Henry here."

Which, Vane noted, did not actually answer his question. He fell into step beside the General. Henry, on his other side, reverted to his garrulous best, filling the distance to the house with futile exclamations.

Shutting his ears to Henry's chatter, Vane mentally reviewed the household. He'd located everyone, excepting only Whitticombe, who was doubtless back in the library poring over his precious volumes. Vane supposed he'd better check, just to be sure.

He was saved the need by the gong for luncheon-Masters struck it as they reached the front hall. The General and Henry headed for the dining room. Vane hung back. In less than a minute, the library door opened. Whitticombe led the way, nose in the air, his aura of ineffable superiority billowing like a cloak about him. In his wake, Edgar helped Edith Swithins and her tatting bag from the library.

His expression impassive, Vane waited for Edgar and Edith to pass him, then followed in their wake.

Minnie did not appear at the luncheon table; Patience and Timms were also absent. Gerrard did not show either, but, remembering Patience's comments on his ability to forget all while in pursuit of a particular view, Vane didn't fret about Gerrard.

Minnie was a different story.

Grim-faced, Vane ate the bare minimum, then climbed the stairs. He hated coping with feminine tears. They always left him feeling helpless-not an emotion his warrior self appreciated.

He reached Minnie's room; Timms let him in, her expression absentminded. They'd pulled Minnie's chair to the window. A lunch tray was balanced across the broad arms. Seated on the window seat before Minnie, Patience was coaxing her to eat.

Patience glanced up as Vane neared; their eyes touched briefly. Vane stopped beside Minnie's chair.

Minnie looked up, a heart-breakingly hopeful expression in her eyes.

Exuding impassivity, Vane hunkered down. His face level with Minnie's, he outlined what he'd done, what he'd learned-and a little of what he thought.

Timms nodded. Minnie tried to smile confidently. Vane put his arm around her and hugged her. "We'll find them, never fear."

Patience's gaze locked on his face. "Gerrard?"

Vane heard her full question in her tone. "He's been out sketching since breakfast-apparently there's a difficult view rarely amenable to drawing." He held her gaze. "Everyone saw him go-he hasn't returned yet."

Relief flashed through her eyes; her swift smile was just for him. She immediately returned to her task of feeding Minnie. "Come-you must keep up your strength." Deftly, she got Minnie to accept a morsel of chicken.

"Indeed," Timms put in from along1 the window seat. "You heard your godson. We'll find your pearls. No sense fading to a cypher in the meantime."

"I suppose not." Picking at the fringe of her outermost shawl, Minnie glanced, woe-stricken and frighteningly fragile, at Vane. "I'd willed my pearls to Patience-I'd always intended them for her."