I’d set three cardboard grocery boxes on the green rug and was filling the first with my commentaries and concordances.

The brass door handle clicked behind me, and Arthur came in without knocking.

He had on his dark wool overcoat over his gray suit, with a slim leather briefcase under his arm.

He stopped near the mahogany desk and watched me pull a pile of logbooks off the bottom shelf.

“Packing up early, Tom?” Arthur asked, his voice smooth and far too polite.

“Just sorting through my personal books,” I said, keeping my back to him as I laid three volumes in the box.