Coward’s courage, perhaps, but if it helped…
Konrad sat in his favourite wing-back chair, his head resting wearily against the satin upholstery. It was late, and the fire had burned low, leaving his study in shadow; but the servants had already gone to bed and he couldn’t summon the energy to leave the chair in order to tend to it himself. It didn’t matter much; he couldn’t sleep anyway, and there was little he could do on the circus case until the morning.
Supposedly he was using the night hours to think over the information he’d gained thus far and decide where to look next, but his sleepy brain had long since given up on any pretence of rational reflection. He was drifting somewhere between asleep and awake when a voice suddenly shattered the long silence, as incongruous as a dream.
