Chapter Seven
Gretchen’s Thing
For a brief moment I hesitated, pausing on the Rue de Tilsitt, looking up at the fashionable old apartment building that seemed to loom over me, dripping with haughty elegance. Then, taking a deep breath, I strode purposely up the steps and rang for the concierge.
A squat man appeared in the doorway, short and heavy, with a pipe and walrus mustache. He led me up the winding stairs, puffing and wheezing as we made our way to the fifth floor, and grumbling all the way, making it clear that this was not his idea. Madame Von Ekhardt had left definite orders: as soon as I arrived, I was to be shown in, let into her flat to wait for her there. It was against the rules of course, but what was he to do, he added with a helpless shrug. Grudgingly, he led me to her
