I pulled the headlamp from my day pack and switched it on. I was in one of the thirteen bedrooms described in the 1903 newspaper. No one had thought it worth redecorating, or even cleaning, for years. Dust was thick on the floor. A water leak was sending brown fingers down the faded wallpaper.

I tiptoed through the dust and opened the door onto a long uncarpeted hall. I -moved as quietly as I could, opening each door, looking in closets, in bathrooms, not seeing anything. Stairs rose from the lower floor halfway along the hall. I peered down. This was the top end of the main staircaseon the floor below me, the bannisters grew large and elaborate; presumably, by the time they reached the ground, they would be equal to what I’d seen at the Bayards’ yesterday morning.

On the far side of the main staircase, tracks appeared in the dust. Catherine Bayard, I had to believe. I followed her steps to a door at the end of the hall. I opened it quickly, crouching low behind it in case someone started shooting. No lead came pouring down at me. Instead, a scared little voice called, “Catterine, it is you?”

CHAPTER 26

The Jaws of a Giant Clam

I straightened up and turned on my headlamp. I was looking up a flight of narrow stairs at a youth in sweatshirt and jeans. His dark eyes were wide with fear. Far from trying to attack me, he seemed too frightened to move.

I stood still and spoke in a calm, slow voice. “I’m sorry, but Catherine can’t come tonight: her grandmother won’t let her out of the house.”

He didn’t say anything. He looked very young and vulnerable, like a fawn frozen in a clearing. He was gripping the handrail so tightly his knuckles showed white through his dark skin.

“Can you tell me your name and why you are in this house?” I spoke in the same slow, gentle voice.

“Catterine, she say I stay here.” His voice came out in a whisper. “Why is she hiding you?”

He swallowed convulsively, but didn’t speak.

“I’m not here to hurt you. But you can’t stay in this place any longer. People know you’re here.”

“Who know? Catterine, she say she tell no body.”

“The woman who used to own this house lives across the street. She has seen your light, your and Catherine’s lights, through the attic windows. The woman has a son who is a-friend-of mine.” The youth was so

frightened I didn’t want to tell him I was a detective. “Her son asked me to find out who is living in his mother’s old house.”

“And now what you are doing? You are telling police?” “I’m not telling the police. Unless you killed someone.”

“Kill? I not kill, you cannot say I kill, I am in house, not killing!” In his panic, his voice rose. We’d been speaking in whispers, so that the sudden shout was shocking.

Fatigue was making it hard for me to concentrate. Also I was getting a crick in my neck from staring up at him. “I want to come upstairs so we can talk properly”