The door to Michel’s bedroom was closed; as I passed, I stopped, trying the handle as quietly as I could. It was locked. Of course, it would be now that he knew what I’d found. I heard a sound from the library, a movement. I went down the hall, stepping between the open double doors and into the green-and-gold-papered library, with its walls of polished maple shelves and leather-bound books and huge window that overlooked the backyard. He was before the window, staring outside. The light haloed his hair and limned him. He could almost have been an angel standing there, except that I knew he was not. I’d thought he hadn’t heard me, but he turned. He was angry. “How’s Dorothy?” I asked him. “Sleeping the sleep of the blessed.” His voice was sharp. “And your assignation with Rampling?” Uncomfortably, I remembered the flash of light I’d seen through the window. “It went well enough. He came to discuss my case.” “Did he? Most clients don’t go running into their lawyer’s arms.
