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doesn’t concern me, and it seems to me that it doesn’t concern Colette either.”
    â€œWe know it does,” the stocky one said. He said it like he was telling me the time, but his face said he’d tear the arms off babies.
    The tall one asked, “Just who the fuck are you, anyhow?”
    â€œSimply an admirer of Ms. Coldbrook’s. This would appear to be a private matter, one in which I have no wish to intrude.”
    Colette’s hand found mine. “Don’t go, Ern! Please don’t!”
    â€œIf you don’t want me to, I won’t.” I tried to make my voice reassuring. “If I can be of any help to you here, just let me know.”
    The stocky one said, “I’ll give you your last chance now. Do you have the book?”
    Naturally I said, “What book is that?”
    â€œThe book Conrad Coldbrook gave his sister here.”
    I shook my head.
    â€œBut you know about it.”
    â€œI believe she mentioned a book. The Lantern in the Library ? I think that was the one. An excellent book! I’ve read it.”
    That was when Colette tried to run to the door. She nearly made it, but the tall one grabbed her from behind before she could get it open. Somebody jumped on his back and got an arm around his neck—and that is all that I remember.
    I said “somebody” because I cannot remember deciding to do it. I cannot remember doing it, either, but I know somebody did. Somebody, not me. I was standing nice and quiet in front of the couch.
    By and by my arms were behind me. I could not move them forward no matter how much I wanted to rub the side of my head. Colette was off to my left, her hands tied with white stuff and held behind the back of her ebonite dining-room chair. She was naked. When I finally looked away, scared that she could see my reflection and I was embarrassing her, it soaked through to me that I was naked, too.
    I am not sure what I said then, but this is close. “It was nice of them not to gag us. I don’t suppose it will do much good to shout for help.”
    Colette did not say a word. As far as I could tell, she was staring straight ahead, and tears were trickling down her cheeks.
    â€œSoundproofed, no doubt. Otherwise they would have killed us.”
    â€œYes. It’s very good.” She spoke so softly that I could scarcely hear her.
    â€œHave they gone?” I was taking care not to look at her anymore, afraid that she would be looking right at what might happen if I did.
    â€œYes. They ransacked the whole place. Where did you put it?”
    â€œI didn’t put it anywhere. I thought you intended to destroy it.”
    She worked her chair around until she could stare at me for a moment, then managed a brave smile. “I suppose you’re right.”
    â€œI don’t believe I can free myself,” I told her, “but if you’ll permit it, I may be able to free you. I’m afraid I’ll have to break this chair to do it, though.”
    She stared.
    â€œHave I your permission?”
    â€œCan you? Go right ahead, if you can.”
    My legs had been tied to the legs of the chair, and the chair legs were not braced with rungs. I could not describe all the contortions I went through trying to put as much stress as I could on the spindly front legs of my own chair, but eventually one snapped. Five minutes later I got the other one. That was the only time in either life that I have wanted to be fatter than I am.
    With them broken, I was able to shake free of the rest of the chair and walk into the kitchen. They had searched it, and their search had included throwing a set of ceramic-bladed steak knives onto the floor. I found one whose blade had not broken, and by kneeling and bending down I was able to grab the figured naturewood handle between my teeth. I had not expected it to be easy to cut through the strips of stout cloth that held Colette’s hands; but that steak knife was