There was no question, of course, of “had I but known” about why I’d been taken on the educational tour of the ninth floor of the Curtis Building. Nor why Colonel Primrose hadn’t stopped on the sixth floor on the way down, instead of sending a message by Mr. Trayser. He wanted to see the Whitneys before anyone else did.
And it was his anxiety not to waste time: about it, I suppose, that made him start down the steps without seeing the little man across the street. He was not easy to see. He was as drab and colorless as the barren earth of Independence Square behind him. Conscious as I’d become of his existence in the last twenty-four hours, I wouldn’t have noticed him if it hadn’t been for the policeman who was keeping the street clear. He had stopped and was looking over our side, and th
