I walked
into a deserted waiting room of a railway station, circa 1950. It
was blustery outside, there's probably a storm due but I thought I'd
go with it. I was sure the masked vigilante thread would keep Finch
busy for a little while, long enough for me to hop two or three more
threads and be well away.
There was a
gust of wind and the rustle of newspapers as somebody entered the
room. A tense glance to my right revealed a middle-aged man in a
big coat and hat, struggling with his briefcase to close the door.
“How long
are we going to keep doing this?” Finch whispered in my left ear,
causing my heart to almost explode.
