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It took Ms. Thuman and myself several days before we had a likely location in Mr. Arthur study that could house his secret. I had more of an opportunity to observe the room than Petunia, who rarely entered the gentleman's private room. During the evenings, I would examine every possible place or object that my eye wandered across. I soon realized how completely endless the possibilities were. It could be beneath his armchair cushions, behind that large painting, the the vase, inside that locked drawer, underneath the rug...I spent at least two evenings in dizzied despair until at last I realized what I had been overlooking. The fireplace, the large marble fireplace! The more I pondered it, the more convincing it became. I soon shared my revelation with Ms. Thuman, and she agreed to open the grate late at night, after the old gentleman had gone to bed. I protested that a young lady should have to take such a dangerous office, but as she was a member of the household and would not appear as suspicious as myself if observed, I reluctantly yielded. I went to my room with great anticipation for the next day. The following day was spent in the fruitless agony of impatience, and I recall caring for nothing nor remembering anything that passed that day, except of the fireplace. Evening finally reared its head, and I waited nervously for the old man to retire. He stayed awake an hour later than his accustomed time, but finally climbed the stairs to bed. I followed his example, for Patricia and I had agreed it would be best if the result of our venture was relayed to me the following morning. The night passed very fitfully, in part because of my anticipation, and partly because of the renewed scuffling on my roof. The disturbance was entirely as loud as it had been before, and I had gotten very little rest by sunrise. I woke early and dressed quickly, hastily making my way down to the breakfast table. Mr. Loffemoore rarely awoke earlier than nine, and I was the only one awake except for the servants. I did not have the opportunity to speak to Ms. Thuman privately, but I observed her in others' company a number of times. I could deduce nothing from her face or manner, and she seemed as collected as her usual disposition called for. I was wallowing in impatience by the time Miss Patricia approached me with her news.
“Nothing” she whispered. I was struck dumbfounded.
“Are you quite sure? Did you search every possibility?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes, yes, and still I found nothing. It is foolishness to search anymore, Mr. Vincent. I don't believe there's any mystery at all here at Loffemoore, and I would thoroughly advise you, Mr. Vincent, to forget the entire matter. It was an idle daydream of mine.” She said this looking exasperated and irritable, so I pressed her no more, but I spent the rest of the day in disheartened puzzlement. Still, though Ms. Thuman had insisted on the impossibility of a mystery, I was not at all convinced. She had not heard what I had encountered on the riverboat that evening. The rest of the day was of very little consequence to me, and I looked forward only to the end of it and the rest which awaited my disturbed mind. But, as Fate would have it, I had no such repose that night. The scratching and scuffling and thumping upon the roof drove me quite mad, and I finally staggered out of my bed to investigate. The night was incredibly cold, and I barred myself against the impulse to turn and run into the warm house. It was a brightly lit night, and I could discern my shadow rather well from the moon's white light. I gazed up at the rooftop of the Loffemoore Manor. The roof was sharply slanted down both sides, and even at the lowest point, there was at the least a twenty foot drop to the ground. It would be quite improbable for anyone to canvass the top of the roof unless they were of an extremely agile and well-balanced build. I could see nothing (or no one) on the top of the roof, and, as I was accommodated in the third story with a small attic above me, I came to the conclusion that the noise emanated from the rats or other varmints that who infested the place. Being somewhat satisfied with my findings, I gladly started to hurry inside to my warm bed, and the hopeful prospect of sleep. However, the sound of footsteps froze me in my tracks. Off to my left, a murmur resonated. I shrank back against the wall. I could see the faint glow of a candle being extinguished. Fighting my panic, I inched closer as quietly as I could manage. I found my hands had clenched themselves into fists. At long last, I could glance around the corner of the wall. Two figures booth stood, speaking in murmuring low tones. One was tall, stately, and impressive, with a build that would intimidate most any man. The other was shrunken and frail, but with the remains of a proud stature still evident. I had no trouble identifying them as Mr. Arthur Loffemoore and, no doubt, his mysterious friend Mr. Gregory Foster. Their murmurs were still inaudible, and I dared to creep closer. Their low conversation finally made its way to my strained ear.
“She will need convincing.” said the sultry tones of Gregory Foster.
“Furthermore, it will persuade her that you are indeed a man to be reckoned with.” The old gentleman seemed to growl deep in his throat.
“Very well, Foster, but I shall be accompanying you.”
“Consider it settled, then.” The footsteps receded, and I dashed back into the house like all the night's hellions were after my soul. I jumped into my warm bed and attempted to forget how very close I had come to destruction. My scattered wits prevented any sleep, and it was only after the sun was in the sky that my eyes drooped out of sheer exhaustion.