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I didn’t feel like debating the pros and cons of death.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll buy you dinner.”

We walked down the hill in silence. The lights of the village seemed far away but I didn’t really give them much thought. I was too busy working out where Sir Alastair might have taken Justina. Putting myself in his place, I tried to work out the sequence of events.

Before I arrived at Maitland House this evening, he might not have realized that Jenny Clark had seen him digging near Leith’s Cairn. But that had changed when I appeared and demanded to see Justina.

Immediately he must have realized that I knew where her skin was hidden. It was imperative he stop me reuniting her with the skin. If he’d had more time he might have found a secret place to imprison her, but he hadn’t had time. He’d been forced to improvise.

I guessed that while Phillips had been trying to prevent me entering Maitland House, Sir Alastair had been making arrangements, probably with Francois, to hide Justina. Because it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, there had been no time to drug her which explained the scream. It also meant they had to lock her up somewhere close by. Somewhere in Maitland House.

They hadn’t hidden her upstairs. I had already searched the bedrooms and the attic. So where was she? Downstairs? Possibly, but I thought they’d choose somewhere more out of the way. Somewhere no one would look. Like a garden shed. I tried to remember whether I had seen one in the grounds. There had to be something and it had to be large enough to house a riding lawn mower, but a garden shed was too easily accessible for a hiding place. Sir Alastair would choose the most secure place he could find, which would be somewhere inside the house. But where?

Still trying to work out how he would think, I remembered the way he had looked as I faced him across the drawing room.

He had worn elegant slacks, navy blue, with a fine cashmere sweater. His grey hair had been neatly combed, not a hair out of place. His long-fingered hands with their perfectly clipped nails had curled possessively around a port glass. A port glass. I could see the bottle, half full of garnet red liquid. A place like Maitland House would have a wine cellar.

“Casper,” I said. “I’m going back to Maitland House.”

I thought I heard him groan, but I was already running back the way we had come.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Maitland House was in darkness when I arrived. I wasn’t sure whether Casper had followed me, but if he had, he was keeping out of sight. I crept around the back and made my way cautiously across the patio to the French doors.

I wasn’t sure how I’d get in, but I had learned a few things during previous visits to Maitland House. Firstly, there was no alarm—Maitland House was too far off the beaten track to make it worthwhile—but to compensate, the windows and doors were securely locked. Secondly, there were a lot of windows and doors. Ensuring they were all locked would be a mammoth task. I hoped Phillips wouldn’t be up to it.

I approached the French doors and turned one of the knobs. It was unlocked. No, it couldn’t be that easy. I wondered whether it was a trap. Was someone waiting inside in the darkness, ready to pounce?

Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I started to push open the door. A nanosecond later I heard a noise inside. Then the room was flooded with light. I caught a glimpse of Phillips before I jumped away.

Heart hammering, I pressed myself flat against the wall beside the French doors. Had he seen me? I held my breath. I was ready to run if he came out but I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Probably he hadn’t seen me. It was dark outside. My heart rate slowed. I began to relax. Then I heard movement near the doors.

There was a rattle, as though he was turning the knob. I pressed myself flatter against the wall and balled my fist. Another knob rattled. There was a sound like bolts being slid home, then the swish of drapes being drawn. The light dimmed. A moment later it went out