MELISSA HAS A MIDNIGHT VISITORShe and her father usually played backgammon after dinner. Back in the living-room, she brought out the board and set the pieces, her mind busy with her thoughts.
One had to face the fact—she was scared. She could not rid her memory of that vision of Apostolou crumpling up in the snow in the light of the torches or banish from her ears the primitive hate in the angry voices crying out against him as the rabble seethed around. The Baron had told them that the murderer was unknown: she wouldn't put the deed past Grenander, she told herself, Grenander with his flaccid cheeks and piggy eyes, and brutal, hectoring air—she shivered at her recollection of him. After all, it was Grenander who was behind everything. True, the Baron was nominally in charge at the Castl
