by Robert A. Arthur, Jr.
‘Good morning, Sir Andrew,’ Jorman said pleasantly as the steps came up to his stand. ‘Times?’
‘Thanks.’ It was a typically British voice that answered. ‘Know me, do you?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Jorman grinned. It was usually a source of mystification to his customers that he knew their names. But names were not too hard to learn, if the owners of them lived or worked nearby. ‘A bellboy from your hotel was buying a paper last time you stopped. When you’d gone on, he told me who you were.’
‘That easy, eh?’ Sir Andrew Carraden exclaimed. ‘Don’t know as I like it so much, though, being kept track of. Prefer to lose myself these days. Had enough of notoriety in the past.’
‘Had plenty of it four years ago, I suppose,’ Jorman suggested. ‘I followed the newspaper accounts of your tomb-hunting expedition. Interesting work, archaeology. Always wished I could poke around in the past that way, sometime.’
‘Don’t!’ The word was sharp. ‘Take my advice and stay snug and cozy in the present. The past is an uncomfortable place. Sometimes you peer into it and then spend the rest of your life trying to get away