Chapter 4: The Door

At dawn on Sunday I tried every door in the house.

I did it in my socks, with a mug in one hand, while Hugh Cullen slept and his numbers held.

The front door opened.

The back door opened, and the cellar door, and the little iron door onto the roof deck.

The door to the bedroom Nikos had given me opened and shut and opened again.

There was nothing on the outside of it but a plain brass knob.

I told myself I was checking for Hugh's sake.

I rattled the back one twice, to be sure.

At nine the driver came up the stairs fast and said something to Nikos in Greek.

Nikos was in the sickroom doorway.

He turned and looked at me, and I knew from his face that they had come.

"Behind the front door," he said. "In the hall. Out of the window."

"Why?"

"Because I'd like them not to see you."

I went, because there are rooms where you listen first and ask afterward.

The hall was narrow, with a long mirror and a coat rack.

The front door had a pane of frosted glass in it.

I stood with my back against the plaster, in the one place a person on the stoop could not see.

Nikos came and stood in front of me.

He put his left hand flat on the wall beside my head.

He turned his shoulder to the glass, so that his whole body stood between me and the door.

His other hand settled on the small of my back, wide and firm, and pressed me gently in toward the wall.

No man had ever touched me there only to hide me.

He smelled of soap and coffee.

"Stay quiet," he said, close to my ear.

The bell rang.

The driver opened the door a hand's width.

I heard cold air and a man's voice, soft and pleasant.

"Morning. We're from the hall."

"I know who you are," Nikos said, without moving.

"Mr. Galanis."

The voice came closer.

I could see its owner in the mirror.

He was about forty-five, with a shaved head, in a navy jacket with the hall's patch on the chest.

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