“The service shaft goes down three floors to the old kitchens.”

I took another half-step toward the window, dragging my heels to make a loud scuff on the floorboards.

Evan’s eyes darted from the dark gap in the wall to my feet, his forehead slick with sweat.

“Don’t move,” he snarled.

“I am just trying to find the first-aid kit,” I said, pointing to the small sill.

“You are bleeding onto the rug, Evan.”

“If Lorenzo sees that blood, he will know you were here.”

He looked down at his sleeve, his eyes wide with a sudden, twitching panic.

The copper smell of his blood was thick in the warm nursery air.

I slid my left hand into the gap of the service panel.

My fingers found the heavy iron weight of the dumbwaiter pulley.

I knew this system. I had greased these tracks myself during the spring cleaning.

I gave the rusted steel cable a sharp, downward tug.

Deep inside the wall, a heavy wooden counterweight slid three inches and hit the wooden frame.

A dull, echoing thud vibrated through the floorboards near the wardrobe.