“Jill,” he said, “take over for a few minutes. I have to go down to the basement.”

“Yup,” came a voice from within.

He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a set of keys.

“Come on,” he said, getting up. Stevie fell in step behind him.

“My uncle used to say to me, ‘You’re a pain, but I can’t see through you,’” Stevie said.

“Your uncle had a point,” he replied.

“It’s my persistence that made me an Ellingham student.”

“Uh-huh.”

The Great House basement was accessed through a door in the kitchen, and the way to the kitchen was a wooden door under the grand staircase, which led to a half-set of steps to a partly subterranean space. The kitchen was a cavernous room with a white-and-black tile floor and white walls. Though the old appliances had long been removed and replaced with modern ones, there was still an air of the 1930s here—the wide wooden counters, a much-marked marble-topped table where pastries would have been rolled. There were massive cabinets and pantries, all with whitewashed wooden doors, slightly warped and cracking with age. The windows started only halfway up the wall, making the room slightly darker. Massive globe lights hung from the ceiling. Though it smelled slightly of the faculty’s microwaved lunches and dirty coffee mugs, there was still a feeling of authenticity here. Stevie could imagine the house cook and her assistant working away.

“This way,” Larry said, taking Stevie to an unmarked white door toward the far side of the room. “Watch the steps. They’re warped.”

Here, the Great House got a bit more real. The basement had a strong basement funk even from the entrance—a pungent, acrid smell that Stevie could feel on the back of her throat. The steps were saggy and made a noise like a scream when she stepped on them.

“You were always going to show me,” Stevie said as they went down. “Weren’t you?”

“If I didn’t, you’d find your way down here some other way.”

Stevie glowed with pride.

“It’s a warren down here, so stay with me,” he said.

Larry turned to the right, where they were immediately confronted with a wall. There was a small opening to the right side of that, which led to a space just a few feet square. This led to another chamber that was maybe ten feet square, that opened on either side to more little chambers. Each one was dark and had to be lit by a small pull-bulb.

Stevie had been in the recently excavated tunnel with Hayes the fateful week before he died. She had already been in some claustrophobic spaces. Though this basement was much larger, it had been cut into random little spaces with walls of old brown brick. It was a labyrinth.

“What is this?” Stevie asked as they twisted and turned through many tiny hovel-spaces.

“Albert Ellingham was a weird man,” Larry said. “People always forget that. He was weird. He and his friends used to play games down here. Some of these doors . . .”

They had, in fact, reached a door. He opened it to reveal a bit of brick wall.

“Are jokes. And just so people would never learn the layout, he’d regularly have the inner walls knocked down and moved.”

“That’s awesome,” Stevie said. “Why is this not in any books?”

“Because no one is allowed down here,” Larry said. “And all these pointless walls aren’t on any plans. They’re entirely cosmetic. I’d knock them down, myself, and make this space more useful.”

Some of the middle areas were more full of objects—bigger, heavier ones. Large boxes, old appliances, piles of chairs and bits of old furniture. They had to squeeze through some of these. There were some heavy metal hatches in the floor as well. Stevie shone her phone light down on them.

“What are these?” she asked.

“Old storage areas. They used to keep supplies down here—apples, potatoes, preserved food. Those down there were some of the icehouse storage. They’d cut ice in the winter and pack it in with straw. Before there were freezers, there were icehouses. Now . . .”

They had reached one of the larger parts of the basement—a space maybe twenty feet long and half as wide across. It went all the way to the window. Larry pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight function.

“Right now,” he said, “we’re just under Ellingham’s office. This wall”—he tapped his hand on the wall to their right—“is permanent and load-bearing. And right here . . .”

He shone his light along the wall for a moment, then felt along with his hand until he located what he was after. He pressed hard into one of the bricks, and there was a dull sprong. He pushed against a bit of wall, and it gave way, revealing a narrow doorway on a hinge. Stevie instantly made a move for the opening, but he blocked her with his arm. “You can look in, not that there is much to see.”

Stevie craned her head into the pitch-black opening. Here, the stench of dust and mold was truly terrible and she immediately sneezed. She got out her phone and shone it into the darkness. She could faintly make out a passageway, barely two feet wide, with a set of stairs at the end.

“That’s how Ellie got out?” Stevie asked. “She took a hidden door from the office?”

“That’s how she got out. She came down the steps, out through this doorway. Over here . . .”

He indicated the window. There were a few boxes shoved up against the wall.

“There were boxes just under the window. It was partially propped open.”

Stevie stood for a moment, looking at the tiny window, caked in old dirt and cobwebs. It was covered by a grate on the outside.

“How?” she said. “How did she know?”

“I don’t know,” Larry said. “We’ve had people get into the basement, but no one, to my knowledge, ever found this passage before.”

“So she got out the window,” Stevie said, looking up. “How did she get through that grate?”

“They’re hooked closed down here,” he said, pointing to a latch. “You undo the latch, push up. That’s how we found it.”

“So she gets through the passage, comes downstairs, stacks some stuff, opens the window and the grate, and climbs out. She did this all in, what, five minutes?”

“Something like that.”

“So she had a five-minute lead on you. And all of this must have taken a few minutes, so she only had a minute or two to run from the building before you went after her.”

“Give or take,” Larry said. “We went to the basement first, we had to scramble people. So yes, she had about a five-minute head start.”

“Where do you think she went?” Stevie said. “She didn’t have anything with her. I mean, she had her coat. But she had no money. I guess she had her phone?”

“No calls were made, and there’s no trace of the phone. She turned it off or ditched it somewhere.”

“What do you think she did?” Stevie asked.

“Best guess, she made her way down to the road. We went down there right away, but she must have cut through the woods. The police looked at the rest stops on the highway, had eyes on the buses. Somehow, she got past. I think she knows people in Burlington. Maybe one of them came and got her. That’s my guess.”

“Not eaten by a bear?” Stevie asked.

“It’s not impossible that she ran into a bear, but bear fatalities are rare, and we would have found some remains, most likely.”

He said that a little too nonchalantly for Stevie’s comfort.

“I think she’ll turn up,” he said. “Element’s family had a history of living in communes. I think there are ways she could have gotten to one of those places and she’s lying low. Loads of places like that up and around here. But eventually, people come out. No one wants to stay hidden forever. It’s not human nature.”

No one wants to stay hidden forever.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

Larry indicated that she had been doing this all along and might as well just keep going.

“How do guilty people act?” Stevie asked.

“They lie, generally,” Larry said. “Some fall apart right away, but some can keep lying to your face, cold as ice, and never stop.”

“But is there something they do? Is there some kind of tell?”

“Yes and no,” Larry said. “It’s not them. It’s you. Once you’re around it enough, you learn how to spot it. But you can’t rely on that. You have to go on the evidence. Even if you have the best instinct in the world, it’s the facts that matter.”

“You can’t rely on your gut,” she said.

“Not in determining guilt. But your gut can help you in other ways. It can keep you from getting hurt.”

There was something just a little bit pointed in how he said it.

“Did Ellie seem guilty to you?” she asked.

“She seemed . . . scared,” he said. “But she would have been.”