The trio made their way into the house, amazingly without another word except for Caroline's whispered instructions. Soon they found themselves in front of the door to the south drawing room. James pulled out an odd flat tool and inserted it in the lock.

“Will that thing really work?” Caroline whispered to Blake.

He nodded curtly. “Riverdale's the best. He can pick a lock faster than anyone. Here, watch. Three more seconds. One, two…”

Click. The door swung open.

“Three,” James said with a slightly self-satisfied smile.

“Well done,” Caroline said.

He smiled back at her. “I've never met a woman or a lock that didn't love me.”

Blake muttered something under his breath and strode past them. “You,” he said, turning around and pointing to Caroline, “don't touch anything.”

“Would you like me to tell you what Oliver also did not want me to touch?” she asked, her smile patently false.

“I don't have time for games, Miss Trent.”

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of wasting your time.”

Blake turned to James. “I'm going to kill her.”

“And I'm going to kill you,” James returned. “Both of you.” He stepped past them and made a beeline for the desk. “Blake, you inspect the shelves. Caroline, you—well, I don't know what you should do, but try not to yell at Blake.”

Blake smirked.

“He yelled at me first,” Caroline muttered, well aware that she was acting juvenile.

James shook his head and went to work on the locked desk drawers. He carefully picked each lock, then examined the contents of each drawer, rearranging them afterward so that Oliver wouldn't notice they'd been tampered with.

After about a minute, however, Caroline took pity on him and said, “You might want to concentrate on the bottom left.”

He looked back up at her with interest.

She shrugged, her head tilting to the side with the movement. “It's the one Oliver was always the most insane about. He once nearly took Farnsworth's head off just for polishing the lock.”

“Couldn't you have told him this before he went through all of the other drawers?” Blake asked angrily.

“I tried,” she retorted, “and you threatened to kill me.”

James ignored their sniping and jimmied the lower left lock. The drawer slid open, revealing stacks of files, all of which were labeled with dates.

“What is it?” Blake asked.

James let out a low whistle. “Prewitt's ticket to the gallows.”

Blake and Caroline crowded around, both eager for a look. There were perhaps three dozen files, each neatly labeled with a date. James had one of them open on the desk and was scanning the contents with great interest.

“What does it say?” Caroline asked.

“It documents Prewitt's illegal activities,” Blake answered. “Damned stupid of him to have put it in writing.”

“Oliver is terribly organized,” she said. “Whenever he devises any sort of a plan he always puts it down on paper and then follows it without exception.”

James pointed to a sentence beginning with the initials CDL. “That must be Carlotta,” he whispered. “But who is this?”