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Nothing given to chance. Nothing left behind. Not even the dead man's eyeglasses or the bloodied newspapers. She had spoken to him often of the "strange doors" with the light along the bottom, or the chamber filled with portraits that seemed to move. In a journal, she detailed her experiences with the "night creatures" who dashed about the yard and sometimes were bold enough to peer through the gutter glass at her.
Only the strange man with the bird-like features had taken any of this seriously. He stroked his long beard and took the journal in his large, flat hands. After only a few moments with the small book, he had discovered a loop of fine golden wire hidden among the pages...