The house was cold when I walked in, the oil furnace clicking softly in the basement as it came on.

I went up to the study, laid the cream folder on the oak desk, and took Lewis’s folded flag out of my pocket.

I set the triangular flag in the middle of the desk under the lamp, feeling the coarse wool under my fingers.

The navy wool felt rough and solid under my thumb, still cold from the unheated attic.

A heavy knock sounded on the front door at ten minutes past two in the afternoon.