"I'm not being nosey," the man said, "but you handle yourself like a lad who's been around. And you must be afraid of the law or you wouldn't be hanging out down here. Right?"
Ostby turned and faced the stranger squarely. "Is it any of your business?" he asked belligerently.
The man held up his hand. "Take it easy," he said. "I'm looking for a fellow like you. Do you have the guts to kill a man?"
Ostby found a cellar window unlocked. He crawled through and let his legs hang down. When they touched a floor he pulled himself completely in. He paused and let his eyes become adjusted to the semi-dark.
At the end of the cellar he could make out a short flight of stairs.
Ostby climbed the stairs and softly opened the door. Directly in front of him, but half way across the room, a fat man sat in an over-stuffed armchair. He sat so quietly that at first Ostby thought that he was dead.
Only when he reached the fat man's side did he see that the slate gray eyes of the man had been watching him since he entered.
"If you were able to get this far," the fat man said, still not moving a muscle, "my guards have been bought off."
"You're Siggen?" Ostby asked.