Among the documents and money in the chest lay a small brass key, tarnished with age. A tag was tied to it with faded string: East Wing. Finally, Andrew sighed with relief, pulse quickening. At least, the secret in the locked corridor would no longer be a mystery. He would be spared opening the locks by force.
But first things first, Andrew broke the wax seal gently, as though afraid the words might disintegrate. Henry’s handwriting, steady but faint, filled the page. “If you are reading this, Andrew, you have solved the garden puzzle. I always knew curiosity ran in our family. What you found here is my real life.”