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EPISODE SEVENTY THREE
THE SHORT flights of beautifully placed steps that led up directly from the pave to the impeccable front doors with their gleaming silver knockers. Neat brass railings enclosed the area steps that led down to the kitchen regions. Behind him something crackled . . . a rat rustling through the fallen leaves . . . but no, he took no chances. He kicked at leaves to reveal one rat, but guessed at least two. He stroked the hilt of the short blade in its sheath at his waist. He could kill it and roast it meat, if there were only two of them. But if it was only one, it would do no good for him in the shadowy gloom of this cold February night. His body was moving almost before his mind became aware of it, running for cover and racing across the street. And now he could hear the sound of the night
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