CHAPTER 54

The caterwauling horns had reached a crescendo, and I turned away, cutting across the lawn toward home. The night was serene, with a wafer of a moon shining over Alex Sterling's house. Despite the lingering laughter and the glow of his garden, a sudden emptiness seemed to emanate from the windows and great doors, isolating the figure of the host standing on the porch, his hand raised in a formal gesture of farewell.

Reflecting on what I've written so far, it might seem that the events of those three nights, spaced weeks apart, were the sole focus of my thoughts. In truth, they were mere diversions in a bustling summer, overshadowed by my personal affairs until much later.

My days were occupied mostly by work. Each morning, the sun cast my shadow westward as I hurried through the vibrant streets of lower New York to the Probity Trust. There, I knew my colleagues well, dining with them in dim, crowded eateries on modest fare. I even had a brief dalliance with a girl from Jersey City who worked in accounting, though it quietly faded when her brother started casting menacing glances my way before her July vacation.

Dinner usually found me at the Yale Club, a strangely somber ritual in my daily routine. Afterwards, I would retire to the library, devoting an hour to the meticulous study of investments and securities. Occasionally, there were rowdy characters about, but they respected the library's sanctity, making it an ideal sanctuary for my focused endeavors.

On mellower evenings, I'd stroll down Madison Avenue, passing the venerable Murray Hill Hotel and crossing Thirty-third Street en route to Pennsylvania Station.