“What is that room?”

“This one?” Caroline asked, her finger still occupying the larger square.

“No, the one you said should be larger.”

“Oh, that is the south drawing room. I don't know very much about it other than that it ought to be bigger than I've shown. I wasn't allowed to go in there.”

Blake's ears immediately perked up. “You don't say?”

She nodded. “Oliver called it his House of Treasures, which I always thought was rather silly, seeing as how it wasn't a house at all but just a room.”

“What sort of treasures did he keep there?”

“That's the odd thing,” Caroline replied. “I don't know. Whenever he bought something new—which he frequently did and I tend to think he was using my money—” She blinked, having completely lost track of what she was saying.

“When he bought something new,” Blake prodded, with what he thought was remarkable patience.

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “Well, when he bought something new, he liked to crow about it and admire it for weeks. And he always made certain that Percy and I admired it as well. So if he bought a new candelabra, one could be assured that it would be on display in the dining room. And if he bought a priceless vase, then—well, I'm sure you understand my meaning. It would be completely unlike him to purchase something rare and expensive and then hide it away from view.”

Blake didn't say anything, so she added, “I've been rambling, haven't I?”

He stared at the map intently, then shifted his gaze to her eyes. “And you say he keeps this room locked?”

“All the time.”

“And Percy isn't allowed to enter, either?”

She shook her head. “I don't think Oliver has very much respect for Percy.”

Blake exhaled, feeling a familiar rush of excitement coursing through him. It was at times like these that he remembered why he had first gotten involved with the War Office, and why he had stayed with it for so many years, even though it had taken so much away from him.

He'd long ago realized that he liked to solve problems, to put little pieces of a puzzle together until the entire picture presented itself in his mind. And Caroline Trent had just told him where Oliver Prewitt was hiding his secrets.

“Caroline,” he said without thinking, “I could kiss you.”

She looked up sharply. “You could?”

But Blake's mind had already jumped ahead, and not only did he not hear Caroline, he hadn't even noticed that he'd told her he could kiss her. He was already thinking of that little corner room at Prewitt Hall, and how he'd seen it from the outside when he'd been spying on the house, and what was the best way to get inside, and—

“Mr. Ravenscroft!”

He blinked and looked up at Caroline. “I thought I told you to call me Blake,” he said absently.

“I did,” she replied. “Three times.”

“Oh. Terribly sorry.” Then he looked back down at her map and ignored her again.