The room itself was desolate, empty. It didn’t appear like anyone lived there at all. What sparse furniture there was looked unused and unwanted, backed into corners or against walls, worn from time, not function. The wooden floor had no carpet, and the open windows had no curtains; and it was by the right window that Mr. White stood, back to his unexpected guests.
He certainly lived up to his name. The paperish suit he wore was nothing if not white, and a catch of his tie shared this trait. However, underneath all was a drab black, haunting for its contrast against the rest of his figure. His sleeves were rolled up, though they usually were. Mr. White’s services were so often sought these days he scarcely had time to return them to their casual form. He rested himself against the sill, both hands hidden in his pockets. They were untrustworthy hands. And behind his ear, something silver tucked, kept there for safe keeping.
“Knock knock, sir.â€