"Maybe. I'll get it."
When Holman opened the door a tall, slender young man, wearing a conservative suit, stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the corridor. He had a neat black mustache and was carrying a big bunch of red and gold forest flowers. "Is Miss Nancy at home?"
"Who are you?" The young man was standing close to him but Holman didn't move back.
The young man bowed slightly and smiled. "Tell Miss Nancy it's Shandy. Or better, Mr. Shandy."
"Christ," said Holman, backing now.
Shandy bowed again politely and walked to the door of the kitchen, knocking on the wall before he entered.
Holman jerked himself together when he heard Nancy gasp, and ran back to her.
Shandy was sitting in a kitchen chair, his legs crossed. "It's a rather interesting story, Miss Nancy," he said, smiling evenly.
Nancy reached out and turned off the stove. "I imagine."
Shandy brushed each side of his mustache. "Well, to begin then. I was in the wood and suddenly I tripped, carelessly, over a fallen log and was knocked unconscious. When I recovered I found myself in this state." He paused to rub his head. "And, of course, I remembered."