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“How do you know how to use those?” Reina asked.

A grin crossed his face as he tucked the canvas back into his jacket. “As you said earlier, I’ve spent a lot of time in the company of burglars.”

“And they taught you their trade secrets?” she asked.

John gave her a mock-innocent glance. “Like you, I have a natural rapport with criminals.” He turned and went down the pair of shallow stone steps that led to the service door and lowered to his haunches. Before he could ask for the light, Reina went to the side of the stairwell and shone it on the lock.

She was fascinated by the clever, precise movements of his hands as he inserted the tension wrench and curved wire into the keyhole. A soft click broke the silence. Then another.

He worked with his ear close to the lock mechanism.

Click.

His hands went still.

“Damn,” he muttered, and withdrew the wrench and pick.

“What is it?” Reina asked.

“Chubb detector lock.” He dropped the tools back into his pocket. “I could tell by the sound. I had to stop before I set it off.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a mechanism that trips if the wrong key—or a pick wire—moves any lever too far. The lock goes into a ‘detected’ state, and then the door can’t be opened at all, even by the proper key. Only a special master key would make it usable again.”

“Oh,” she said softly, crestfallen. “Then . . . it’s all over?”

“No, cariad.” He came up the steps, rummaging in his jacket pockets. “A sorry pair of criminals we’d make, if we let one locked door defeat us. I’ll go in through a window.”

“All the windows are covered with wrought-iron grilles.”

“Not the ones up there.”

Reina’s gaze scaled the side of the building. The window of the next story up was at least sixteen feet high.

She looked back at John, who was now busy with a small grappling hook. He twisted the metal collar to loosen it and pulled each curved arm outward, one by one, until they locked into position around the central bolt like the legs of a spider.

“You could injure yourself,” Reina whispered anxiously, as he uncoiled a length of half-inch rope and tied it to the end. “You could fall on your head.”

“It’s a very hard head I have, cariad. But don’t worry—I won’t fall.” He swung the hook to test its weight. “Stand back,” he cautioned, spinning it in a tight wheel-like circle, gathering momentum before letting it fly.

The steel gadget shot upward but clattered harmlessly against stonework and dropped to the ground amid a shower of dust. Grimacing, John retrieved it and spun again. The grappling hook ascended, and this time it caught on the ornamental ironwork balustrade beneath the window.

They both winced at the clank it made.

John tugged at the hook, seeming satisfied with its grip, and said softly, “Put out the flame and wait in the stairwell. No one will see you from the street.”

He began to climb, hoisting himself up hand-over-hand and repeatedly looping the rope between his feet. The movement was sinuous, almost snakelike, as he ascended to the balustrade in less than a minute. He pulled the rope up after him. She heard a metallic flick and the scrape of a sash window being opened.

A minute later, sounds came from the other side of the service door, and it creaked open.

Breathing from exertion, John pulled Reina inside with him. After closing and relocking the door, he took the bullseye lantern from her. “We’ll need to reach Farlow’s private office without going through the main hall,” he reminded her.

Reina nodded, understanding the need to avoid windows. “I’ll lead the way.”

Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. As soon as she’d entered the bank, a sense of unreality had come over her. She had left her emotions at the threshold like a pair of wet galoshes.

John lit the lantern.