I slipped into the shadows behind the tall hall clock, six feet from Mr.

Winslow’s room.

At ten past ten, Dr.

Samuel Wallace came up the main staircase.

He moved slowly for a middle-aged man, carrying a black leather briefcase heavy enough to pull his right shoulder down.

He didn’t knock on the frame before opening the bedroom door.

Christopher was already inside, standing near the window with a glass of brown liquor in his hand.

I moved to the narrow gap between the open door and the jamb.