On the left side of the gate was a keypad. Bridget pushed the intercom button underneath, but no one answered. Ajay pressed his face to the gate, peering through the gathering darkness. “There’s two cars parked in front,” he told her. “A pickup and a Tesla.”

Bridget pressed the button again. This time she waved at the camera. But still no crackle broke the silence.

She stepped back to consider the gate and the brick walls on either side. “There’s got to be a way to get in.”

Ajay shuffled his feet. Was that really their place? “Maybe instead we should call the police?”

“And tell them what? That Bob sent me an email and got my parents’ names wrong? We need more than that. And what if he’s passed out inside?” Bridget stuck her head and then her shoulders through the curve of the S. She pulled back. “If I take off my coat, I think I can squeeze through here.” She was already unzipping it. She laid it on the ground next to the gate.

“There’s no way I can. But I don’t want you going up to the house by yourself.” Ajay stepped back and eyed the brick wall. It was about seven feet tall. “I think if I got a running start I could jump and pull myself up.”

Bridget pointed her arms like a diver and started wriggling through the S. She got caught at the hips, but she kept wiggling, and finally she slipped through. Getting back on her feet, she pulled her coat through the gate.

“Okay, wait for me.” Ajay walked backward a dozen steps, then launched himself into a run. He leapt, and his fingers found gritty purchase. With trembling arms, he managed to pull himself up and get one knee and then the other on top of the wall. By the time he thought about the possibility of broken glass, it was too late. But the top of the wall was just concrete, nothing more.

He swiveled around and jumped down from a sitting position, landing with his knees bent. Then together he and Bridget walked to the front door. It had a gryphon-head iron knocker as well as a bell. They tried both, but no one came to the door. Ajay pressed his ear against the cold wood, but heard nothing.

By unspoken agreement, they began to move around the perimeter of the house, using their phone flashlights to peer in each room. They were clean and tidy. They struck Ajay as almost sterile, as if no one lived here at all.

“It’s hard to think of the guy who wrote Swords and Shadows living in a McMansion with wall-to-wall carpeting,” he whispered. They were both whispering now, even though their stated purpose was to attract Bob’s attention.

“And there’s not even a single fireplace you could roast a stag in,” Bridget whispered back.