Keller had the impulse to shout a warning. He wouldn’t do that, but what was he supposed to do, just sit there and watch the woman get killed?

“They’re talking,” Dot said, her own voice reduced to a whisper. “If the window was open we could hear them.”

“Don’t open it now.”

“No. From this angle all I can see is the tops of their heads, and they’re both wearing hats.”

“What difference does that make?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s a friend of hers.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe she’ll take him upstairs. Maybe she’ll do that even if he’s a stranger. That’d make it easy for him, and then Roger’ll be waiting across the street when he comes out. Ooops, false alarm.”

Maggie was entering the building. And the man in the hat had drawn away from her and was crossing the street, moving to the right, away from the man in the doorway. He walked fifteen or twenty yards to another darkened building and stood at the door.

“He was asking directions,” Dot explained. “And she pointed him over there, and that’s where he’s going. See? He’s waiting for somebody to buzz him in. And somebody just did, and there he goes.”

“And the lurker, the guy in the cap? He’s not in the doorway.”

“That’s him two doors down,” she said. “Heading to the corner. The coffee shop’s still open. Maybe he’s hungry.”

“The locksmith seemed to like the Boston cream pie.”

“I wouldn’t mind a piece myself,” she said. “This watching and waiting takes a lot out of you.”

Around midnight, Dot took her suitcase into the bathroom and emerged wearing a flannel robe and slippers. She had trouble with the Murphy bed, but stopped Keller when he rose to give her a hand. “Wait until I take over for you,” she said. “We want a pair of eyes at that window all the time.”

“There’s nothing happening out there.”

“And how long would it take for someone to cross the street and pop into the building? Okay, now you can get the bed down.”

He knew she was right. That was the whole point of her joining him, so that at least one of them would be watching at all times. They could take turns sleeping, and one could go on watching while the other went out for sandwiches and coffee, or for a closer look at whoever was lurking in the neighborhood.

It was good, too, to have company. That had felt odd at first, because he was on a job, and he never had anyone with him when he was working. But this was a little different anyway, because his work was rarely this passive a process. There was often a fair amount of waiting involved, but you generally knew who you were waiting for, and you got to pick the time when waiting stopped and action commenced. If you were going to spend an indeterminate period of time just sitting at a window, peering through an inch-wide gap between the shutters, it didn’t hurt to have someone to talk to.

She got into bed. Earlier she’d found a lamp-white, of course, with a white shade-but now she turned it out, and the sole illumination was what light came through the half-open bathroom door. “The minute you get tired,” she said, “you wake me, and I’ll take a turn.”

While she slept, he kept an eye on the street scene. It was hard to keep his mind on what he was doing. When you stared long enough, waiting for something to change in your field of vision, and nothing did, well, your mind tended to wander. Keller, willing himself to maintain his vigil, thought of those sentries in wartime who were punished for falling asleep on duty. Like it was their choice.

Maybe it was to motivate them, he thought. Maybe the threat of execution helped them fight off fatigue. It seemed to him, though, that the best way to doze off was to struggle to stay awake. Sitting in front of the television set, staring drowsily at afternoon football, the harder he worked to stay alert, the more certain he was to drift off. His mind would slip away on some tangential thought, and the next thing he knew the Giants were trying to squeeze in a play before the two-minute warning.

This was different. His eyes stayed open without much effort on his part. But one thought would lead to another, and it was hard to pay any real attention to what was happening outside the window. Especially in view of the fact that nothing was happening. The guy in the windbreaker and cap had disappeared, and the guy with the hat and muffler had never returned, and what was the point?

They’d made a mistake early on, he realized. When Dot let out the contract, she should have specified that the job had to be done during normal business hours. Monday to Friday, nine to five. All concerned-their hitter, Roger, and Keller himself-could have the rest of the time off.

As it was, they were stuck. Not the hitter-he could return to his hotel room whenever he wanted, or kill a few hours at a movie. That was one of the nice things about the business, you could pretty much write your own schedule. There was plenty to do in New York, and time to do it. If the guy wanted to see Cats, say, that was up to him.

Not so for Roger, who had to be on call twenty-four hours a day. And not so for Keller, who had to be able to identify both men, and then had to be Johnny-on-the-spot when the hit happened, sitting on the hitter’s shoulder and waiting for Roger to make his move.

A car appeared at the far end of Crosby Street. It traversed the block without speeding up or slowing down, then turned at the corner and disappeared from view. Across the street, a cigarette glowed in an upstairs window.

Whoopee.

After a few hours he thought about waking Dot, but couldn’t figure out how to do it without deserting his post. He didn’t want to shout, and was reluctant to take his eyes off the street. Around four-thirty she woke up on her own and told him to go to bed, for God’s sake. She didn’t have to tell him twice.

“The guy over there,” Dot said. “Standing over by the garbage cans, eating the sandwich.”

“I think it’s a hot dog.”

“Thanks for pointing that out, Keller. It makes all the difference. Is he the guy with the hat and the muffler?”

“He’s not wearing a hat.”

“Or a muffler,” she said. “Or a long coat, as far as that goes. But could it be the same guy?”

“The one who approached Maggie and asked for directions.”

“And then he went across the street and into that building,” she said, “and now he’s two doors away, eating not just any sandwich but a hot dog. Same guy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“That was the night before last,” he said, “and he was all bundled up.”

“Hat, coat, and muffler.”

“The best view I got of him was the top of his head. The top of his hat, actually. And the rest of the time all I could see of him was what showed between his hat and his muffler.”

“I think it’s the same man, Keller.”

“The man I saw,” he went on, “was clean-shaven. In fact that was just about the only thing I could tell you about him. He was white, and he didn’t have a mustache. This one’s got a mustache.”

“Give me the glasses, Keller.”

“You didn’t see the mustache?”

“I saw the mustache. I just want a closer look at it, that’s all. These aren’t the greatest binoculars in the world, are they?”

“They’re not the worst, either.”

“No. It’s a hot dog, all right, and it’s probably not the best hot dog in the world, either, judging by how long it’s taking him to eat it. That mustache could be a fake.”

“So could the hot dog.”

“Huh? Oh, you were making a joke. Aren’t you clever. I think it’s a fake mustache, Keller.”

“Why would he have a fake mustache?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe he grew it,” he said, “in the time we’ve been cooped up here.”

“Maybe he’s a master of disguise. He’s done with the hot dog, believe it or not. I wonder if he’s going to light a cigarette.”

“Why would he do that?”

“That’s what smokers do. Don’t ask me why. Most of the people who stand around outside, they’re smokers who aren’t allowed to smoke in their offices. He’s not lighting a cigarette.”