“Surely now we call in the police and FBI,” Robert said to Marsh. “We can have someone wake J. Edgar Hoover. We can’t go on like this.”

“They said the increase in ransom was because you involved the police,” Marsh said. “Meaning, me.”

“They don’t want the police involved,” Ellingham said. “I can give them whatever they want.”

“This will go on,” Robert replied, his voice cracking with urgency. “You are an endless source of funds. Don’t you see?”

An owl cut across the sky with a screech.

“We should talk about this inside,” Marsh said quietly. “Voices carry.”

The Great House was quiet now, but it was not still. The electricity on the mountaintop was often erratic. The lights in the main hall flickered and dimmed. The house itself seemed to pulse. Two more men in overalls waited directly inside the door, guns at the ready. They looked confused, jumpy, and seeing Marsh’s damaged face did not reassure them. Montgomery, the butler, was still awake and attending.

“Should I bring water and bandages, sir?” he asked.

“What?” Ellingham said. Then, remembering Marsh’s injuries, he waved his hand. “Yes, yes. Bring them.”

Inside the office, Ellingham walked restlessly to his drinks table and poured some whiskeys with a shaking hand, giving one to the detective and keeping one for himself.

“What have you told everyone in the house?” Marsh asked. “They must have noticed that Mrs. Ellingham and Alice have not returned.”

“We said we had a threat of the usual type,” Robert said. “Anarchists. Mrs. Ellingham was told to spend the night in Burlington with a friend until we sorted it out.”

“Do you think they believe it?” Marsh asked.

“Unlikely.”

The three descended into silence for several minutes. Marsh lowered himself into a chair. Ellingham stood at the fire, his hand gripping the mantle. Mackenzie sat and examined the letter again. Montgomery appeared with the water and bandages. Marsh wiped the blood from his face.

“We’ll get them back,” Ellingham suddenly snapped. “We’ll give them whatever they want. Iris is strong and resourceful. She will be able to handle herself and Alice.”

“With respect,” Robert said, “I must speak frankly in this circumstance—Mrs. Ellingham is resourceful. She is also strong-willed and athletic. She’s a champion swimmer and skier. Do you think she would allow herself and her daughter to be taken without a fight? She will struggle. This has already gone wrong in several ways. Every moment we delay reaching out to the police at large is a moment she’s in danger.”

“They’re already upset that someone else is involved. Look what they did to Marsh! We can do this. We can get them what they want without further attention.”

“We may have no choice in that matter,” Robert replied. “Even if we wanted to—do you think this is going to stay quiet? We have about twenty people in the house, we’ve got the school, and in a few hours, we’re going to have a hundred men more show up for work. How does this stay out of the press?”

“Have work for this week canceled and arrange for the men to be paid anyway.”

“That’s not going to stop people from talking,” Robert said. “This will be all over Burlington by dawn.”

Ellingham looked to Marsh, who was sipping his whiskey carefully through swollen lips.

“Can you get that kind of money by tomorrow?” Marsh asked.

“The Burlington bank won’t be able to handle a withdrawal of that size on no notice,” Ellingham said. “Robert, wake someone up in New York and have them at the bank the moment it opens and you have it flown here. Get our contacts together. Money, pilots. I want people awake now. I’m going to make sure the property has been secured.”

When Ellingham was gone, the policeman and the secretary regarded each other by the light of the fire.

“I understand your disapproval, Mackenzie,” Marsh said. “I don’t like this either. But I think this is how we have to play it right now.”

“That letter . . . should we use a rope or gun? Knives are sharp and gleam so pretty. Truly, Devious. The person who wrote that note is talking about murder, not kidnapping.”

“We do it this way for twenty-four hours,” Marsh said. “Whoever did this—they know this place well. Assume we have eyes on us. If this estate is flooded with FBI, they could panic and act rashly. We stay cool, we do as they say.”

Ellingham reappeared at the doorway of the office.

“Word has just come that one of the students is missing—a girl named Dolores Epstein. We need to have the grounds searched. This has to be connected. She’s a good girl. She wouldn’t run off. My God, we need to protect the students. We can’t give the game away. We’ll need to get them all out of here on some excuse.”

Robert Mackenzie wearily closed his eyes. He felt that he was watching a disaster in the making and could do nothing to stop it.

8

STEVIE AWOKE WITH A JOLT THE NEXT MORNING, IN THE UNFAMILIAR bed. Her work of the night before was there on the floor. The faces of the Ellinghams stared up at her as she sorted her bath supplies into the blue plastic caddy she had so carefully chosen, shuffling the shampoo to one side, pushing over the shower gel, looking for the right place to stand the razor. She pulled on her pajama bottoms and a robe, put on her flip-flops, picked up the caddy, and stood in front of the closed door for a full two minutes working up the courage to go out into the hallway.

This was weird. Why was it so weird? She knew this was a dorm. She’d stayed over at friends’ houses before. But this was different—these were the people she would be living with, and some of them were guys. Half of them were guys.

So what. She was wearing a robe and . . . so what?

She opened the door. No one was in the hall. Feeling victorious, she took measured, leisurely steps down to the bathroom. There was another bathroom upstairs; it was unlikely that everyone in the house would be crowded into this one. It wasn’t very big, though, and it was already very steamy and the one shower stall was in use.

Stevie set her caddy on the windowsill and examined the frosted coating on the window to make sure it made it impossible to see inside. The shower curtain snapped back, and a dripping Ellie emerged. Technically, Ellie had a towel, but she was using it to dry her hair. The rest of Ellie was on show.

“Oh, hey,” she said. “The water is kind of cold now. Sorry.”

She continued walking past, leaving sopping-wet footprints along the way. As she reached the door, she looped the towel around herself, barely covering the major regions of her body, and headed out.

That, Stevie thought, is confidence.

Also, Ellie had bare feet. Stevie had the stupid flip-flops on. Her mother had convinced her that if she took them off for even a second, her feet would be attacked by terrible germs. The shower looked clean—but still.

Also, the water wasn’t kind of cold. It was completely cold.

Still, a cold shower isn’t the worst thing on a summer morning when you’re already tired. This was pure mountain spring water. (It was likely some kind of municipal water or something, but it was important to tell yourself a good story when you were standing under ice-cold water.)