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. It was not until then that he realized that he had almost fallen those four stories.
The attic was no more than a crawl space; he started to explore on hands and knees for the fixture he believed must be here: a scuttle hole for repairs or inspection. Once he started looking and failed to find it, he was not sure that there was such a thing -- he knew that some houses had them but he did not know much about houses; he had not lived in them much.
He did not find it until sunrise striking the vent holes gave illumination. It was all the way forward, on the street side.
And it was bolted from underneath.
But it was not as rugged as the door to the roof. He looked around, found a heavy spike dropped by a workman and used it to dig at the wooden closure. In time he worked a knot loose, stopped and peered through the knothole.
There was a room below; he saw a bed with one figure in it.
Thorby decided that he could not expect better luck; only one person to cope with, to persuade to find Mother Shaum without raising an alarm. He took his eye away, put a finger through and felt around; he touched the latch, then gladly broke a fingernail easing the bolt back. Silently he lifted the trap door.
The figure in the bed did not stir.
He lowered himself, hung by his fingertips, dropped the remaining short distance and collapsed as noiselessly as possible.
The person in bed was sitting up with a gun aimed at him
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