He’d overslept. Only a froth of yellow hair was visible above the blankets on the other bed. He showered, dressed rapidly. He was knotting his tie when she spoke. “Where are you going?” Her eyes were sleep-clouded. “Out.” She said, “Oh,” burrowed under the covers. He put the gun into his right hand pocket. “Does Jake live over the club?” “Yes. He doesn’t get up so early.” He closed the door, went down the corridor. He wasn’t consciously moving softly but the carpeting was plushy and he had learned to travel with care. Elise didn’t hear him. Her face was bent over the small table; she sorted the first mail. Without reason, he watched. He saw her lift one envelope, examine it; she raised her head furtively as she thrust it into her apron pocket. Her eyes scuttled as they met his but her fingers retained their thrust on the letter. He moved to her deliberately. He demanded, “Give me that.” “It’s mine.” “Give it to me.” “No.” His fingers clutched her wrist but she resisted with desperate strength.
