He entered the garden room of the mansion, the waning moon giving him just enough light to see by. Spotting a door, he went over and prised it open. The hallway was shrouded in darkness, no sight or sound of activity. He knew he had to find the library, where he’d hidden the rutter the last time they’d been there. From what he remembered of the building’s layout, it was down the corridor and round the corner to the left. Silently he stole through the mansion. The double doors to the banqueting chamber had been left partly open, the grand room now empty of revelling guests and bare of decoration. Jack was so tense that his heartbeat seemed to echo round the empty space as he passed. At the end of the hallway, he cautiously peeked his head round the corner. This corridor was deserted too: a relief, but no surprise considering the time of night. From what he recalled of their frantic flight from Sir Toby during the first banquet, the library was the second door on the left. He tiptoed over and, praying it wasn’t locked, pushed the door. With the faintest of squeaks, it creaked open.

The library was as quiet as the grave, with only the dying embers of a fire in the grate. Jack stole inside and eased the door shut behind him. By the moonlight shining through the leaded window, Jack could make out the lines of leather-bound books upon the shelves. He went over to the nearest bookcase and reached up for the rutter …

It wasn’t there!

He ran his finger over the shelf again, but no, the logbook’s black oilskin cover was nowhere to be seen. Was he mistaken? Jack looked a third time, then began searching the other shelves, panic welling up in him. Has someone taken it? Or perhaps someone’s moved it? he thought. Or perhaps he hadn’t remembered properly and, in the rush of hiding it from Sir Toby, he had put the rutter on a different shelf.

‘Is this what you’re looking for?’

His heart leaping into his mouth, Jack spun round and saw Sir Henry. He reclined in the armchair by the fire, the rutter in one hand, a loaded flintlock pistol in the other. Hidden by the shadows, he’d been so still and silent that Jack hadn’t noticed him at first.

‘That’s my father’s!’ said Jack firmly. ‘Give it back to me.’

Sir Henry shook his head. ‘Tut tut, young man – what right have you to demand anything in my house? This book was in my library. In my house. So that makes it mine now.’

Jack moved to seize the rutter, but Sir Henry held up the pistol and put his finger to the trigger. ‘Not so fast, young Fletcher.’