There were no signs of a struggle here, nothing broken. One might be excused for thinking nothing was wrong; the linens were neatly folded (persnickety creature, Peter Pettigrew), the dishes were washed and stacked. The door was intact, the lock was still functioning, the raggedy furniture was all in its place. Nothing was scuffed, nothing was so much as jostled. And yet - the fridge was empty, the fireplace was cold. The armchair by the fire was covered in a very thin layer of dust. Nothing had been disturbed, probably for days.