Raymond Winslow appeared at the top of the grand staircase, and I heard Harrison Vance draw a sharp breath beside me.

He was dressed.

Dark trousers, a crisp white shirt, his weight leaning hard on a polished wooden cane.

He had spent two full nights, in secret, practicing the walk from his bed to his bedroom door, forcing his slowly returning body to obey him step by trembling step.

But he had never once attempted the stairs.

He attempted them now, in front of all of us, because he had decided that the man who came down to meet his own rescue would not be carried.

“Mr.