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with excitement. She withdrew a small wooden box. “It’s locked. I could try to jig the lock.”
    “Wait!” Diana ordered, a horrid thought crossing her mind. She hefted the box. It was not terribly heavy and as she shifted it, she could feel small objects within sliding back and forth. Coins, she guessed, not terribly many in number. She peered at the lock. Small, intricate, more complex than the box itself. “The lock might contain a trap of some sort.”
    “Do you think so?” Siobhan sounded dubious. “In that little box? If this man is poor as you say there would be no way he could afford such a lock.”
    Diana squinted, trying to see inside the dark keyhole from underneath. “Perhaps I’ve misjudged the man in my initial impression.”
    “We could always smash the box.”
    Diana chewed softly on the inside of her cheek. “There will be no hope then of our mission going undiscovered.”
    “How long do you think that’s going to last anyway?”
    Diana put the box down, thinking. “Is there anything else of value in this room?”
    Siobhan shook her head. “Dirty clothes, half eaten food, unmade bed. Maybe he’s got some hidey spot full of clues, but it could take us hours, or never, to find it.”
    Just the box then. It was all they had. Diana tapped a front tooth with one polished fingernail. With a sigh, she slid the box back under the bed.
    Siobhan was aghast. “Are you daft? That’s the only thing of value we’ve found!”
    Diana looked up at her. “I won’t have you risk a possibly trapped lock. If we take it and we’re caught, we’ll be thieves. I’ll get a lecture; you’ll be hanged. I won’t take that chance.”
    Siobhan blinked, apparently experiencing a rare speechless moment.
    In the silence, footsteps were audible outside in the hall. Diana met Siobhan’s wide eyes. Without a word between them, they simultaneously darted into the small armoire and hid within. Diana took only enough time to slip the ornate pistol from her bag. Together, they were cramped, pushed up together like two rabbits in a warren. The smell of Mancini’s clothing seemed to rob the air of whatever sustained life. From the crack between the two doors of the clothespress they could peer out at a sliver of the room beyond, but they had to take turns doing so.
    A key turned in the lock and the door opened. A man walked in. Through the crack in the wardrobe, Diana could see he was short in stature, but with considerable musculature and a round belly. Perhaps forty-five years of age were past him, balding with the remains of his hairline shaved close. His clothes were rough-hewn, nondescript. He wouldn’t have warranted a second glance under normal circumstances. Now she noticed a certain grace and certainty in his movements. He looked like nothing better than a farmhand, but underneath lingered something more.
    He removed a tan overcoat with a tired sigh and burped. He plunked down on the bed and began removing his boots.
    “Oh damn,” Diana whispered.
    “What’s going on?” Siobhan hissed. “I can’t see.”
    Diana shook her head wordlessly. She couldn’t see as well now that the man, who surely must be Mancini, remained at the edge of the room. A moment later she heard the unmistakable sound of a body stretching out on a mattress. Mancini let out a guttural sound as he relaxed. Mere seconds later, the snoring began.
    Diana pursed her lips, resting her head against the arm holding her pistol. A part of her wanted to laugh.
    “He’s sleeping, isn’t he?” Siobhan whispered.
    Diana nodded. “What kind of sinister assassin needs a late morning nap?”
    “I hope he’s a heavy sleeper.”
    Diana looked at her. “All right, we need to change plans.”
    Siobhan visibly swallowed. “You’re going to shoot him, aren’t you?”
    Diana only gave her a hard look. As quietly as she could, she pushed open the armoire door and stepped out into the room. She leveled the pistol at the sleeping man’s chest,