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Two
Theyworeblacksuits,whichwereslightlygreasy,slightlyfrayed,andevenRichard,whocountedhimselfamongthesartoriallydyslexic,felttherewassomethingoddaboutthecutofthecoats.Theywerethekindofsuitsthatmighthavebeenmadebyatailortwohundredyearsagowhohadhadamodernsuitdescribedtohimbuthadneveractuallyseenone.Thelineswerewrong,andsowerethegracenotes.
Afoxandawolf,thoughtRichard,involuntarily.Themaninfront,thefox,wasalittleshorterthanRichard.Hehadlank,greasyhair,ofanunlikelyorangecolor,andapallidcomplexion;asRichardopenedthedoor,hesmiled,widely,andjustafractiontoolate,withteeththatlookedlikeanaccidentinagraveyard."Agoodmorrowtoyou,goodsir,"hesaid,"onthisfineandbeautifulday."
"Ah.Hello,"saidRichard.
"Weareconductingapersonalenquiryofadelicatenatureasitwere,doortodoor.Doyoumindifwecomein?"
"Well,it’snotveryconvenientrightnow,"saidRichard.Thenheasked,"Areyouwiththepolice?"Thesecondofthevisitors,atallman,theonehehadthoughtofasawolf,hisgrayandblackhaircutbristle-short,stoodalittlebehindhisfriend,holdingastackofphotocopiestohischest.Hehadsaidnothinguntilthismoment—justwaited,hugeandimpassive.Nowhelaughed,once,lowanddirtily.Therewassomethingunhealthyaboutthatlaugh.
"Thepolice?Alas,"saidthesmallerman,"wecannotclaimthatfelicity.Acareerinlawandorder,althoughindubitablyenticing,wasnotinscribedonthecardsDameFortunadealtmybrotherandme.
