Rutledge peered at me in disappointment. "I expected more from you, the way Grenville boasted. The students have already been questioned. I had them all thrashed, but to no avail. You will get nowhere with that line of thinking."

"The students might be more willing to speak to a sympathetic stranger than their headmaster or even a prefect," I pointed out. "Servants, too, see things, hear things. I shall have my man talk with them."

Rutledge dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Useless. They will not tell you, even if they do know."

I grew annoyed. "Did you expect me to pull the solution out of the air? I must begin somewhere."

"Yes, yes, very well. But I expect you to tell me everything. Everything, Lacey."

I did not promise. I'd tell him what he needed to know, nothing more. I had learned in my life that problems were often more complex than they seemed, and most people did not want to know the entire truth. Rutledge was a man who saw everything in black and white. Subtle complexities would be beyond him.

He dismissed me then, curtly. Without regret, I left the warm and comfortable room for the cold hall.

The case intrigued me, but Rutledge had not endeared himself to me. I was also put out with Grenville and intended to write to him so, first for not telling me that my employment here was simply a means for solving a puzzle, and second for not warning me that Rutledge was such a boor.

A walk in the brisk March air, I thought, would do me good.

It was late afternoon, and boys and tutors spilled through the double doors to change their clothes for chapel or dinner or more studies. There were thirty boys in this house, which was called the Head Master's house.