“I’m sure his God will take care of him,” Harry said with a sneer. “Malachi always comes back. Surely you know that better than anyone. You’re probably right, and he probably didn’t go far, but that doesn’t mean they’ll catch him—even if we called the cops ourselves, right this second. They hunted around this place all today and all yesterday and couldn’t turn him up. He’ll hide as long as he has to, and then he’ll be back for more trouble.”

“He does seem to have a knack for it,” I admitted, shuffling my feet and trying to ignore Eliza’s evil, beady eyes.

“He’s getting some kind of help,” Harry admitted, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not God who’s feeding him information.”

“Then who? Or what?”

He put his hands on his hips and stared up and down around the dining room. “Couldn’t say. But right now, believe it or not, Malachi is not the worst of our worries. We’ve got to find that book.”

“Yeah—about that book—you said my life depends on us finding it. I don’t suppose you’d mind elaborating on that point, would you?”

Harry quit scanning the walls and floor and met my eyes with what appeared to be genuine concern. “It’s very hard to explain. And I don’t want to frighten you.”

“Oh, good grief. Try me. You’d be surprised what I understand, and besides, when you mentioned my life was on the line you officially entitled me to an explanation.”

“Yes, you do deserve one,” he agreed, but he wasn’t ready to fill me in yet, so he didn’t. “I’ve checked the servants’ rooms quite thoroughly, and I’m almost certain she hasn’t hidden anything in there. She’d be more likely to keep it closer to herself anyway, and the places that I haven’t been able to search have been those she spends the most time in. Let’s start in her bedroom, shall we?” He finally paused to acknowledge my narrowed eyes and firmly set lips, and then sighed. “And I promise, I’ll tell you everything I can while we look. But the most important thing of all is that we find it, and quickly.”

I agreed to his terms and followed him up a flight of stairs into a hall. We passed several bedrooms that were furnished, but clearly unoccupied; and at the end of the row was Eliza’s room. It looked much like I would have pictured it, had I bothered to give the subject any thought. Her bed was a giant four-poster canopy, and the vanity and dressers were made to match it. Old-style oil lamps were mounted on the walls, casting a flickering warmth across the maroon-and-ivory furnishings. Across the room on the far wall there was a window, but I couldn’t imagine that it had been opened any time recently. The room was stuffy, smelling of medicine, dust, and dried flowers.

“This is where she lives?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “And the book must be here someplace.”