Three rooms were arranged at the end of the mansion's Servant's Wing. It was dark and I had to feel for the name plates beside each threshold. Mrs. Lawrence's was room 4 - P, and, when I entered, the door was unlocked.

 

I tried to be quick and respectful of her things, no doubt making some noise in the process; but her room was tidy from top to bottom. The plain bed was made without a single crease in the sheets, and even the articles within her dresser--brushes, linens, and her work uniforms--were carefully stowed.

 

On the wall above her bed was a picture of a young Mrs. Lawrence, her arms around a gaunt man, not much older than her. I assumed him to be her husband. 

 

Mr. Range stood off to one side as well, leaning on a pair of large elephant tusks, smiling and showing off for the camera. I did not recognize the location, but, behind the subjects, a jungle treeline sprawled high into the sky and above the camera frame. 

 

At that moment, as I studied Mr. Range's perhaps illegal prize, I heard the click of shoes echo down the stiff, woodpaneled corridor. Expecting Mrs. Lawrence, I left the room and stepped into the hall to greet her. But, instead of finding the elderly woman, the dark silhouette of a man filled the narrow hall. He stopped in his tracks the second he saw me. 

 

"What are you doing down here? Identify yourself!" I yelled.

 

Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and ran the other way, slamming the door to the Servants' Wing before I could study his appearance. 

 

By the time I reached the door myself, he was gone.

 

Too thin to be Mr. Dawson and too tall to be Mr. Grady, I wondered who the visitor could have been.