Despite practicing on Wyatt’s safe at the RHR, she couldn’t get Mr. Hawkins’s office safe open. Last night she’d signaled for help. Wyatt had come to her window, and they’d planned. Tonight, he was coming in to help her.

A lantern light shone back at her, then blinked out, Wyatt’s signal that he was coming.

Molly doused her lantern, nervous to let him help with the search. It was worrisome to think of Mr. Hawkins catching her wandering at night, but she’d never be able to explain letting Wyatt in.

And besides that worry, when she’d crept around the house at night, she’d worn her nightgown. In the event that Mr. Hawkins came down and found her, it would be easier to use the excuse of a sleepless night. Tonight, she did the same, but it felt so wrong to greet Wyatt in her nightgown that she wore her dress beneath it and a robe over it. Since the dress barely fit beneath the nightgown, she felt as puffed up as a stuffed turkey.

Wyatt tapped on the glass. Her heart pounding, listening for any sign Mr. Hawkins was awake, she slid open her window and let Wyatt in.

He clambered in, and she shut the window to keep out the cold night air. He took two steps, and his heavy boots creaked loudly on the floor. He froze.

“Take them off and leave them in here,” she whispered.

Nodding, he pulled them off and set them under the window.

They slipped out of the room, through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the office.

It stood empty. The fireplace cold, not a spark of light anywhere.

Molly moved carefully around the furniture in the room and closed the heavy drapes, then lit her lantern.

Without speaking, she pushed the painting aside. It swung easily, and she held it there to reveal the safe. The painting was large, a landscape signed by someone named Thomas Moran. Mr. Hawkins had told Molly how valuable the painting was, how important the artist was, he went on and on. But as he did that about near everything, she assumed he was boasting. It was a beautiful picture, but for heaven’s sake, no picture could cost that much.

Wyatt had a slip of paper in his hand. The safe combinations Hobart had given them.

Working silently, he turned the dial this way and that, then he reached for a handle and twisted. Something clunked, and the safe began to open.

A board creaked overhead. They both froze.

“Douse the lantern,” Wyatt whispered.

Boards creaked again. It might have been the sound of a foot on one of the stair treads.