seemed to hang all right, no jutting over wall bulges; the sideboard of some light wood that Mount couldnât place, out of tone with the mahogany. Some books and papers lay on it: heâd scan the books and papers shortly and look in all the sideboard drawers. Before that, he must get through the other rooms and see whether they contained anything or anybody, or any body, he needed to see. By now he felt certain thirty-seven was no ambush. He hadnât been grabbed, clubbed or shot when at his most targetable â coming through the front door.
The big bedroom and kitchen seemed as disorderly as the living quarters, maybe worse. The bed had not been made, and clothes were strewn about. On a kitchen unit he saw what appeared to be the leavings of an interrupted breakfast â half a grapefruit, some fragments of bread, a quarter-full coffee mug. A fork lay close to the mug in a small pool of gravy, perhaps from the previous nightâs meal. But the single bedroom, when he opened that door, was neat and spruce, a kind of ladylike touch, as good as anywhere in thirty-four, and theyâd been forewarned to get tidy. If the apartment had been searched, wouldnât they have done this room as well? The idea strengthened in him that Toulmin had gone somewhere urgently and fast, not having time to spruce up the rooms he actually used, promising himself it could be put to rights when he returned. But the other explanation for the showpiece small guest bedroom might be that searchers had found whatever they were after elsewhere in the apartment and didnât need to turn that one over. The open drawers in the sideboard looked like evidence of a failed search, but might not be: possibly theyâd taken something theyâd been hunting from one of them. What, though?
He went back into the living room. To examine the papers and books he would have to use his torch. Had a good education made him regard books and papers as incomparably important: all that devoted labouring over Greek and Latin texts had slanted his mind? At any rate, he did regard them as important. But no matter how thin the torchâs ray, it might be noticeable from outside: a sudden stab of white after long-time blackness. He switched on, though. He kept the torch close and stood with his body stopping most of the light from reaching a window. He put the beam momentarily on the papers. They seemed to be mostly family letters, including a wedding invitation. But he saw, also, the receipt for a birch wood and metal laminated armchair. That troubled him, though he couldnât fathom why. It told no real tale. He put the receipt in his pocket. Never mind the reason.
He wanted a better look at the papers and wondered whether he could draw the curtains briefly. He might then even risk switching on the living roomâs overhead bulb. A reasonable gamble? He came to think so. The curtains were heavy and almost reached the floor. They would let little or no light through. He put the torch out, moved to the side of the window and paused. Closing the curtains would involve standing behind each in turn, concealed from outside, and tugging it to the centre. He must act quickly, because a half curtained window would be conspicuous. Right. And he was just about to start when he instinctively glanced down around the edge of this curtain to check whether anyone outside watched.
On the pavement in the street leading to the apartment block, he saw three men walking at a good lick, perhaps making for this building. It was shadowy despite the overhead lamps, but he thought one of the three might be Toulmin. Although he couldnât make out faces at that distance, the physical shape of this man and a rather jerky way of walking suggested Toulmin. Yes, âsuggestedâ would be the right, imprecise word. The man walked between the other two. He and one of the pair carried a suitcase. Mount couldnât prolong this view of them. He had to get out of
The big bedroom and kitchen seemed as disorderly as the living quarters, maybe worse. The bed had not been made, and clothes were strewn about. On a kitchen unit he saw what appeared to be the leavings of an interrupted breakfast â half a grapefruit, some fragments of bread, a quarter-full coffee mug. A fork lay close to the mug in a small pool of gravy, perhaps from the previous nightâs meal. But the single bedroom, when he opened that door, was neat and spruce, a kind of ladylike touch, as good as anywhere in thirty-four, and theyâd been forewarned to get tidy. If the apartment had been searched, wouldnât they have done this room as well? The idea strengthened in him that Toulmin had gone somewhere urgently and fast, not having time to spruce up the rooms he actually used, promising himself it could be put to rights when he returned. But the other explanation for the showpiece small guest bedroom might be that searchers had found whatever they were after elsewhere in the apartment and didnât need to turn that one over. The open drawers in the sideboard looked like evidence of a failed search, but might not be: possibly theyâd taken something theyâd been hunting from one of them. What, though?
He went back into the living room. To examine the papers and books he would have to use his torch. Had a good education made him regard books and papers as incomparably important: all that devoted labouring over Greek and Latin texts had slanted his mind? At any rate, he did regard them as important. But no matter how thin the torchâs ray, it might be noticeable from outside: a sudden stab of white after long-time blackness. He switched on, though. He kept the torch close and stood with his body stopping most of the light from reaching a window. He put the beam momentarily on the papers. They seemed to be mostly family letters, including a wedding invitation. But he saw, also, the receipt for a birch wood and metal laminated armchair. That troubled him, though he couldnât fathom why. It told no real tale. He put the receipt in his pocket. Never mind the reason.
He wanted a better look at the papers and wondered whether he could draw the curtains briefly. He might then even risk switching on the living roomâs overhead bulb. A reasonable gamble? He came to think so. The curtains were heavy and almost reached the floor. They would let little or no light through. He put the torch out, moved to the side of the window and paused. Closing the curtains would involve standing behind each in turn, concealed from outside, and tugging it to the centre. He must act quickly, because a half curtained window would be conspicuous. Right. And he was just about to start when he instinctively glanced down around the edge of this curtain to check whether anyone outside watched.
On the pavement in the street leading to the apartment block, he saw three men walking at a good lick, perhaps making for this building. It was shadowy despite the overhead lamps, but he thought one of the three might be Toulmin. Although he couldnât make out faces at that distance, the physical shape of this man and a rather jerky way of walking suggested Toulmin. Yes, âsuggestedâ would be the right, imprecise word. The man walked between the other two. He and one of the pair carried a suitcase. Mount couldnât prolong this view of them. He had to get out of
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