“They were just here,” Archibald said, puzzled. Slowly, a solution began to form in his mind. “Bruce, the letters must have been stolen. The thief could not have gotten far. I want you to search the entire castle. Seal every exit. Close every door, every gate, and every window. Do not let anyone out. Not the staff, not the guards—no one leaves. Search everyone!”

“Right away, my lord,” Bruce responded and then paused. “What about the marquis, my lord. Shall I stop him as well?”

“Of course not, you idiot! He doesn’t have the letters.”

Archibald stared into the fire as he listened to Bruce’s footsteps fading away as he ran down the tower stairs. Alone, he had only the sound of the crackling flames and a hundred unanswered questions. He racked his brain but could not determine exactly how the thief had done it. Still, it was the only answer.

“Your lordship?” the timid voice of the steward roused him from his thoughts. Archibald glared up at the man who poked his head through the open door, causing the steward to take an extra breath before speaking. “My lord, I hate to disturb you, but there seems to be a problem down in the courtyard that requires your attention.”

“What kind of problem?” Archibald snarled.

“Well, my lord, I was not actually informed of the details, but it has something to do with the marquis, sir. I have been sent to request your presence—respectfully request it, that is.”

Archibald descended the stairs, pondering if perhaps the old man had dropped dead on his doorstep, which would not be such a terrible thing. When he reached the courtyard, he found the marquis alive but in a furious temper.