“What do we have here?” asked the cop, a tall, jowly man with a walrus mustache hung like a Christmas ornament on a bad-tempered face.

“A twenty-dollar gold piece,” said Isaac Bell, holding it up. “What’s your name?”

“Muldoon,” the cop lied.

“Keep ten, Muldoon. Share the rest with the boys and save them the trip.” He held on to it until the cop nodded, agreeing that he would be the last, and left.

At midnight, the music stopped. Musicians filed out of the Stambaugh service entrance. Three men in dinner jackets exited the front gate, laughing, and piled into the Apperson. A couple left the mansion holding hands, raised steam on the Aultman, and drove away. Lights began going out.

“This is looking like a bust,” Wish muttered.

“I’ll take another look around.”

Bell made sure no one was coming and got out of the Baker. The wind was picking up, getting brisk, and it carried a sound that it took him a moment to place, as it was not a noise he associated with a city street. He darted around the fence and stared at the lake, which was dark but for shipping lights and channel markers. He raced back to the car.

Wish saw him coming and stepped down.

“He came on a boat. I heard the sails flapping.”

Bell and Wish Clarke rounded the corner of the fence and ran along it to the water. The mansion had a dock, and Bell could see a small sloop tied to it with its mast bare.

“He dropped the sails. He’s in the house.”

“That son of gun is quick,” said Wish. “He’ll be in and out while most safecrackers would still be building their nerve.”

They climbed the iron fence and found a spot in the shrubbery from where they could watch both the house and the boat. Thirty minutes passed. Bell began to get anxious. “Wish, cover the front door in case he leaves on foot.”

Wish hurried to the street.

Bell kept watching. Moments later, a shadow emerged from a second-story window and descended the back wall of the mansion.

Hand over hand, Laurence Rosania went down a drainpipe as agilely as a spider. Ducking low, he crossed the lawn and onto the dock and knelt to untie the little sailboat’s bowline. Suddenly, he froze, his eyes locking on the front deck where he had lowered the foresail. The sail was gone.

Before the safecracker could stand, darkness closed in on him. Wet, mildewed canvas covered his head and wrapped his arms and legs, pinning them. The next thing he knew, a very strong man was picking him up and carrying him somewhere.

•   •   •