It was the little man in the doorway who explained his presence, rather than they theirs. “I came down for the sunken cathedral,” he said.
Laurel found her eyes roving the room a little wildly. His glance toward the shelves of records put an end to her brief confusion.
“There aren’t any needles,” said Jeff.
“Not down here,” said the little man. “But up in my room I have some. I play the music up there always. This room is not good for listening to music.” He looked about him. “I think the colors take your mind out of your ears,” he added thoughtfully. And then, as though conscious of having said too much, he dropped one hand into the pocket of his absurdly small coat, hunched up that shoulder in a compulsory jerk, and then went with quick neat steps to the shelves of records.
“But the
