Julian looked back toward the gallery and noticed Samuel sitting quietly behind us.

Julian shifted in his armchair, his silk tie catching the bright fluorescent light from the ceiling.

He reached into his pocket for his linen handkerchief, wiped his palms, and stuffed the cloth back into his suit coat.

“Who’s the man with the envelope?” Clara whispered, leaning over the wooden rail toward Julian’s shoulder.

“Just a bank officer,” Julian muttered back, keeping his eyes on the empty bench.

“He’s probably here for another case.”