In another few minutes they were entering an area of London that was so far removed from The Octopus Garden and The Green Spot as to be part of another world. The wheels crunched through snow on a road alongside a large park where the whitened foliage was manicured into what appeared to be the whimsical shapes of horses. Pine trees surrounded a gazebo lit up with multi-colored lanterns to celebrate the Christmas season. Through the trees on the other side of the park could be seen the houses of the wealthy, also even at this late hour illuminated with many lanterns in their windows and on their sweeping porches as if time meant nothing but the accumulation of more money to that singular breed of men.

The Owl’s hackney was curving around the park toward that grand row of stellar estates, and so followed Matthew’s carriage.

“Slow down!” Julian advised from below, as it was apparent the vehicle carrying the Owl had begun to ease its pace as the road’s curve straightened out before the abodes of what might have been the gods of London. Matthew saw the Owl’s carriage stop in front of a high gate. Beyond the gate, another road led between more sculpted foliage perhaps twenty yards to the steps of a huge house of white stone whose array of slanted roofs were covered with snow, and whose windows of varied shapes were ablaze with lamplight. The entire estate was surrounded by an iron fence. At the gate stood a man wearing a long dark greatcoat, a tricorn and a woolen mask over his face as protection from the cold. Matthew saw the Owl hurriedly get out and approach the gate, and before Julian could voice it Matthew said, “Drive on past the house.”

“Yessir, as you say.”

Both Matthew and Julian looked back to see the Owl being admitted through the gate, which swung shut behind him, and the freakish man in the white-hooded coat strode rapidly toward the front steps.

“Pull over just ahead, on the park side,” Julian instructed.

The driver did as he was told and reined Hermes to a stop.

Matthew saw that the Owl’s hackney remained in front of the gate. He watched the Owl use a knocker on the door to announce his presence, and within a few seconds it was opened by a man in a dark blue uniform of some kind, but definitely not a bearlike man with a flame-painted beard. The Owl entered the house and the door was closed.

“Let’s take a walk,” said Julian. “Driver, we’ll need you to stay here. An extra six shillings for you.” One of the guineas had been made into change at a coaching inn, which Matthew was sure would meet with Professor Fell’s approval since Julian was no longer throwing his money away.

Julian left his saddlebag and sword in the carriage, and he walked beside Matthew as they approached the man at the gate. The snow had abated though it was still blowing in flurries, but Matthew thought the temperature must be falling to bone-cracking lows. He figured the guard at the gate had been on duty for a while or was set to be there for a time, therefore the woolen mask to ward off the freeze. Julian reached out to rub his hand along the flank of the horse that had brought the Owl’s hackney here, and then he faced the guard and said, “Pardon me, sir. I fear we’re lost in all this weather. Whose house is this?”