FOURTEEN
The main door was ajar when he arrived outside Knills’ house, pausing before tentatively rapping his knuckles on the wood.
“Hello?” He stepped inside, the entrance hall gloomy and cold. He stopped, turning his eyes to the staircase which disappeared into the murkiness above. A lonely, desolate place, unfriendly in the extreme. He shivered and approached the room where he had first met Knills.
As before, a fire burned in the grate, giving off an inviting warmth, but of Knills there was no sign. A dusty old typewriter was the only new addition and he automatically went to it, curiosity gripping him as a piece of paper came into focus, inserted in the roller, typed words demanding he read them. He leaned over but before he could take in a single word, the door creaked on its hinge
