The light from the library above provided only about six feet of visibility in any direction. To my left, I made out a square shape on the wall. Running my hands over the surface, I realised that it was a fuse box. I found the flip latch and opened it. Now was not the time to make a mistake. Nothing would attract attention like cutting off all the power in the house. I gently touched the rows of switches. All were set to the right except two, one at the top and one near the bottom. Maybe flipping one of them would get me some light, but which one? There was only one way to decide. Eeny, meeny, miney, moe… I flipped the top switch. The cellar flared to life, based in the yellow-orange glow of firelight.
I turned away from the fuse box and found myself staring down a long passage. The walls and floor were made of stone, and the light created eerie patterns across the rough texture. Small metal lamps protruded from the wall along the right side, each emitting a flickering flame. I was curious to see how the lamps had been lit by flipping the switch in the fuse box, but my lifelong interest in lighting techniques would just have to wait.
I was close to the box now. Just the atmosphere of the cellar and the clandestine entrance would have been enough to tell me that, but my instincts could smell it as clearly as a neighbourhood barbecue. I walked down the passage and saw several doors on either side. The first door was to my right. I pushed it open and saw racks of dusty wine bottles, ageing expensively in the darkness. I was thirsty, but I’d forgotten to bring along a corkscrew. And I was willing to bet that all the bottles had those annoying corks in them.
I closed the door and moved on to the next room. I pushed the door open and peered in. The light from behind threw a flickering swathe onto a massive, ornately carved wooden table and a high-back, the velvet-lined chair. A five-pronged candelabra sat on the table. I searched through my pockets and found book of matches. As I lit the candles, the room became visible around me, but my eyes were focused on an object lying on the table.
It was the box.
Several tools were scattered around it, as though Witt had been trying unsuccessfully to open it. I picked up the box and looked it over. It was identical to the others I’d seen. I tucked it under my arm and put out the candles. Suddenly, a voice spoke. I froze in my tracks, startled. The voice was coming from above me and to my right. After several moments, the voice spoke again. I could barely make out the words. I moved closer. The voice had a slight echo, as if it were coming through a pipe. I decided it must be travelling through an air duct, or something similar. I strained to listen.
“How many are there?” It was Witt. I couldn’t hear whoever he was talking to.
“I’ve been in touch with Oliver.” A new name. I wondered who he was and what he had to do with anything. Maybe he had the last box.
“Day before yesterday.” There was a short pause. “He went to Columbia. Business.”
The silent partner went on for some time. Witt cleared his throat. “Yeah, he said he’d received it, but he doesn’t have it with him. No, he said we can’t get it. We have to wait until he gets back. He said he can get it as soon as he returns.”
A long pause. “Tall. Wears a fedora.”
In a flash of transcendental awareness, I knew I was being discussed. Whoever was on the other end of the conversation knew who I was. A brighter man would probably have made a break for it at that moment, but I wanted to hear everything which had to say. Maybe he’d drop a name, or enough information for me to deduce who he was talking to.
“Yeah, he’s here.”
My heart crept up into my throat — they were on to me.
“I’ll take care of it.”
I spun around and tore out of the room. Witt didn’t know I’d overheard him. Maybe he wouldn’t go straight to the library and leave me enough time to escape the way I came in. I dashed down the passageway and turned to climb the stairs. From above, I heard the library door open. For instant, I flirted with the idea of confronting Witt. He wouldn’t be any match for me — unless, of course, he had a gun. I decided I couldn’t chance it. I turned and ran back down the passageway. There had to be another way out.
I reached the end of the passage and turned left, which I guessed was toward the front of the mansion. This section of the passage was not so well lit, but I continued on. Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed behind me. Straight ahead, I saw another flight of stairs. I hit them at a dead run and vaulted toward a door at the top. I threw open the door, expecting to see a gun barrel pointed at me. To my surprise, I was alone, standing in a hallway. Although I had no idea which way to go, I turned my left and moved quickly down the hall. Up ahead, I saw what I thought was the foyer. As I was about to run for it, I heard the limey’s voice. Instinctively, I turned to a door on my right, opened it, and slipped into the room beyond.
I picked the wrong door. A young woman, wearing nothing but an oversized bath towel, was staring at me incredulously. Her body was turned in profile toward a large vanity with a well-lit mirror. Behind her, I saw a large, round tub. She had turned her head to look at me, but otherwise hadn’t moved. Her hair was short, dark, and still wet from her bath. Her exotic facial features didn’t require any makeup.
Under any other circumstances, I would’ve paid good money to be in this position. As it was, I was feeling a significant level of discomfort. “Sorry for barging in. I just wanted to check to see if you had a towel I could borrow.”
The young woman remained amazingly calm. “What’s your name?”
“Call me Tex. I’m a friend of Mr Witt’s. You must be his… daughter? Granddaughter?”
“I’ve never seen you before.”
“I’ve never been here before. It’s a beautiful place. Especially in here.” the young woman looked me up and down, then took a step toward me, hands on her hips.
“Most of my uncle’s visitors are old. I never found any of them very interesting.” She paused, as though expecting a response from me. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. All I knew was that I could hear a faint commotion outside the door.
“So, you’re Mr Witt’s niece? What’s your name?”
“Vasha.”
“Pretty name.”
Vasha took another step toward me. “Thanks. So, how long are you going to be visiting?”
“Oh, I’m afraid I’ve got to be getting along pretty soon.”
“What a shame.”
There was brief moment of silence as I weighed and balanced the many implications of that statement. My contemplation was rudely interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door.
“Vasha?” It was Witt. “Vasha?”
More knocking. The Young woman looked from me to the door, then back to me. She moved closer and motioned for me to move against a wall. Then she went to the door and opened it a crack.
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
Vasha hesitated for what seemed like a week. “Of course. Why?”
“Well, darling, don’t be alarmed, but we seem to have a burglar on the grounds.”
“A burglar?”
“Now, I don’t believe he’s dangerous, but, just to be safe, you should lock this door until we catch him. I’ll let you know when we’ve got him.”
“I’ll stay right here.”Vasha shut the door, then put her ear to it, waiting for her uncle to leave. She then turned to me and smiled.
“So, you’re a friend of my uncles? Or a not particularly dangerous burglar?”
“Neither, actually.” for the first time since I’d come into the bathroom, I remembered I was carrying the box. Vasha looked down at it, then up at me.
“I suppose you brought this box with you?”
“No… not really.”
Vasha seemed to be a lot more comfortable than I was. I wasn’t altogether sure why she had covered for me, but it appeared to make her feel like she was in control the situation — which she was.