“Where did the money go, Mark?” I asked softly.

He did not answer, but his hand began to tremble slightly against his side.

Patricia watched him, her eyes darting toward the door as if looking for an escape.

Thomas Bell stood up from his chair, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the table.

He looked at me, then reached into his briefcase.

He pulled out a single sheet of paper with a diagram of the estate’s cellar.

“There is the matter of the private vault,” Thomas said, his voice echoing in the quiet hall.