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“That’s my favorite piece of music,” Freeboard told him.

“Oh, really? Well, in that case I’ll continue.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

He lifted his hands and again began to play.

Freeboard looked around her. “Where’s Terry?”

“Last I saw him he was stretched out on a couch in the library posing as a very large illuminated manuscript.”

“A what?”

“He’d had a number of scotches.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Did you and Anna enjoy your little walk?”

Freeboard frowned, looking puzzled. “What walk?”

Case stared. A strange sadness had come into his eyes.

He lowered his gaze and shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Where are you, boys? Come to me! Come!”

Apprehensive, barely breathing, grasping for courage, Dare picked his way slowly along the hallway deep within the maze of rooms within the house. The hall was interior, there were no windows, and the light from ornamental copper sconces was dim. “Boys? Come on, boys. Where are you?” Dare hiccoughed. He could taste a bit of scotch coming up. He made a face. And then froze as from somewhere behind him he again heard a small creaking sound, slow and careful, like a stealthy footfall. The sconce lights flickered and dimmed. Dare swallowed. Come along now, don’t be absurd, he thought. Aloud he said, “I’ve written this scene a dozen times.” He turned his head and peered down the length of the hall. There was nothing. The lights came back up to full brilliance and instantly the author felt the atmosphere change, like the sudden relenting of a powerful gravity, leaving the corridor buoyant and free. Dare exhaled, turned around again and slowly walked on until he arrived at a door at his left. He opened it and looked into a spacious bedroom. “Boys?” He glanced around, then closed the door and moved on. Another door. He opened it and looked in. Another bedroom with a four-poster bed. To his right he saw a makeup table. The room had belonged to a woman.

“Boys?”

No response. Yet he entered and closed the door softly behind him. Something had drawn him. He looked out a window at the pale, thin light of end of day. The branches of the oak trees were gnarled silhouettes, like those used to illustrate a Grimm fairy tale. Dare turned on a lamp on a bedside table where he noticed a large, round porcelain pillbox, white, and decorated with little purple rabbits. He picked it up carefully and opened it. It was a music box. It was playing. Dare stared as the tiny chimes tinkled in the air, a Stephen Foster tune, “Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair.” Who had wound it up? Dare wondered. He gentry closed the lid. It was then that something else began to strike him as odd. He reached down and rubbed a finger along the table, then held it to his gaze for examination. The room and its contents were completely free of dust, and the surface of woods appeared newly waxed. Who was cleaning the house? Were there unseen staff in a hidden wing? He thought of his vision, the man in black. LSD or a truly silent butler? he wondered. “Also invisible,” he muttered. Then he sniffed. He smelled perfume in the air, the scent of roses.

“Can I help you?”

Startled, Dare yelped and whirled around.

Morna was staring at him, expressionless.

Her eyes flicked down to the music box.

“Are you looking for something?”

Dare said, “No,” but the reply was almost soundless, gasping through the ice that had formed in his larynx. He cleared his throat with effort and amended, “I mean, yes. My dogs. Have you seen them?”

“The little ones? No.”

He absently nodded. He was staring at her neck.

He looked past her and noticed that the door was still closed. He stared at her neck again. He was frowning. Then something occurred to him. “How did you know that my dogs are little?” he asked. “Have you seen them in the house? Are they here?”

Morna smiled, as if in secret amusement, then without another word she turned and glided to the door, pulled it open and exited the room. For a moment Dare stared at the open doorway, and then down at