"Yes," she said.
"I'm Harry Horn."
"I know."
"You've got to help me." His voice was urgent, pleading. He brushed past her, into her room. She walked in after him, shut and locked the door, leaned her back against it.
"You can't stay here," she said.
"Are you alone?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm alone."
He went through the apartment, returned to the front room. "I had to make sure." He sank into the low divan, covered his face with his hands.
She walked toward him. "You can't stay here," she repeated.
He looked up at her, his eyes frightened. "Do you have any idea of what Lazar will do to me once he gets his fat hands around my throat? He won't kill me right away."