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examined the state of his apartment -- very much the same as when I had visited him last, perhaps six months ago. The squarish dining table had moved a few centimeters, nothing unusual about that. The slight depression in the living room chair indicated that he had been sitting there recently -- given the depth of the depression, the age of the fabric, the angle of the chair to the floor, Chen's approximate weight, and so forth, I estimated that he had been sitting there perhaps ten minutes ago. Of course someone else could have sat in the chair, but none of the faint impressions left on the floor indicated the presence of anyone other than Chen, puttering about in his outdated slippers. The slippers were arranged neatly by the chair, and I had to fight the urge to pick them up. I remembered teasing him about them 
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once: You know it's been medically proven that old-time slippers are bad for your feet. If that is the case, my feet will die in luxury, he retorted. Conjectures, Kellen prodded. He was here. You must have just missed him, give or take a few minutes. Taken. We were not given anything. Sure, I said. No recent visitors. Not unless their signs were meticulously removed within the last few minutes. Kellen pursed his lips. Removal could account for the reported disturbance. No signs of a struggle, though. A very efficient removal, then. Is that your opinion? My opinion … I looked him over, the impor- tant man in his immaculate overcoat, his hair  |
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