I let out a huge sigh of relief then quickly went up the ladder and out of sight into the lilac branches. Twigs and leaves got into my way, but I pushed through them until I was level with the base of the window. It was a push-up sash and it appeared that either the wood of the frame had buckled or the paint had blistered, not allowing it to close completely. The blinds were drawn so I couldn’t see into the room beyond. I removed the kitchen knife I had purloined from Celeste’s kitchen and eased it under the frame. Then I levered as hard as I could. I felt the window judder but didn’t move. I jiggled as I levered, felt the catch give and the window begin to move upward. A little more effort and it was wide enough open for me to crawl inside.

I pushed the blind aside, closed the window after me, and stepped into the darkened room. With all the blinds closed it was like stepping into the depths of the ocean. The room had that closed-up, musty smell, tinged with the odors of oil paint, linseed oil, and turpentine, with which I had now become familiar. I moved cautiously to the door, which was closed, opened it and listened. Complete silence. I ventured forth and moved through a dining room, a library, a parlor before I found myself in the front foyer where I had spoken with Inspector Henri. I was about to open one of the doors leading from the foyer when I realized that I had failed the most basic test of breaking and entering—I was not wearing gloves. Hastily I felt for a pocket handkerchief, but I realized that these were not my clothes and thus I had no handkerchief with me. So I used the fabric of my shirt to hold the door handle. This door led to a hallway with two bedrooms leading from it. I looked around them, opened a top drawer, and extracted a handkerchief monogrammed RB and used it to wipe the drawer pull clean. I didn’t think anyone would have counted the handkerchiefs at this point and Reynold Bryce no longer needed it.