“Sure. Come up.”
He turned, disappeared into the room. Kells said, “Wait,” to Bernie. He went up the stairs two at a time, into the room.
It was a fairly large room, square. There were a few rather good rugs on the floor, a flat-topped desk near the far wall, several chairs. There were two big lamps — the kind that have to be pumped up, hiss when lighted.
The man closed the door behind him, went to the desk and sat down. He waved his hand at a chair but Kells shook his head slightly, stood still.
The man’s face was familiar. It was deeply lined and the eyes were very far apart, very dark. His mouth was full and red, and his hair was very short, black.
Kells asked: “Where do I remember you from?”
The man shook his head. “You don’t.” There was some sort of curious impediment in his speech. Then he smiled. “I’m Crotti.”
Kells pulled a chair closer to the desk. He said: “I’ll still buy a drink.”
Crotti opened a drawer and took out a squat square bottle, a glass. He pushed them across the desk, said: “Help yourself.”
Kells poured himself a drink, sat down.