The waiter hummed to himself the melody of his little ditty in a deep bourdon as he paused a moment at the door. Then he advanced slowly across the area.
Would he stop at the refuse bins behind which I cowered?
No, he passed them.
The third? The fourth?
No!
He walked straight across the area and went to the bin beneath the stairs.
I muttered a blessing inwardly on the careful habits of the German who organizes even his refuse into separate tubs.
The man had his back to the door.
Now or never was my chance.
I crawled round my friendly garbage tins, reached the area door on tip-toe and stepped softly into the house. As I did so I heard the clank of tin as Karl replaced the lid of the tub.