THE HOWARD AGENCY

RESEARCH SERVICES FOR WOMEN

Drawing the elevator grate aside, she unlocked the door and then held it open as we all filed in.

The big expanse of the near-floor-through room was dark, with only the light from the arc streetlamps on Broadway and McCreery’s upper windows across the street throwing any illumination inside. But that was enough to see that Miss Howard had made only a few changes in the decor of the place. The furniture what Dr. Kreizler had bought at an antique auction the previous year-and what’d once been the property of the Marchese Luigi Carcano-still filled the room. The divan, large mahogany table, and big easy chairs rested on the green oriental carpets in their usual spots, giving the place the sudden, unexpected feel of a home. The billiard table was now in the back by the kitchen, covered with planking and a silk drape. It wasn’t the kind of thing, I figured, that would have given Miss Howard’s lady clients much reassurance. But the five big office desks were still there, though Miss Howard had arranged them in a row rather than a circle, and the baby grand piano still sat in a corner by one of the Gothic windows. Seeing it, Cyrus went over and lifted its lid with a little smile, touching two keys gently and then looking to Miss Howard.

“Still in tune,” he said softly.

She nodded and smiled back. “Still in tune.”

Cyrus put his bowler on the bench, sat down, and gently started to play. At first I figured he’d go for one of the operatic tunes what the Doctor always had him give out with at our house, but I quickly realized that it was a slow, sad rendition of some folk melody what I couldn’t immediately place.