‘This is where our headless gent lived.’
‘Back when he was a dockworker-thief?’
‘No. Later. After he’d become Zolin.’
That explained why no one had seemed to know where Mr. Zolin lived. He’d never admit to such an address. ‘Why here?’ said Konrad, baffled. ‘Why go to such lengths to infiltrate a better grade of society only to go on living in the stews?’
‘It’s cheap,’ said Tasha bluntly.
‘And he was stealing a fortune.’
‘Maybe he was saving it for something important, and didn’t want to waste it on a mere dwelling. And it’s nice enough inside. Want to see?’
Tasha had more to share; the look of suppressed glee on her small face was proof enough of it. Konrad let her have her moment, following her through the creaking front door and up the narrow stairs with a passable air of obliviou
