The House at Number Seventeen
Theodore F Walker was back in Vienna. Passers-by would have seen a slim man in his early fifties strolling in the early spring evening, apparently with no fixed objective. In that they would have been mistaken. Theo was early for his appointment by design: it gave him time to make a small detour. At the narrow entrance to Auergasse he paused briefly. The door to Number Seventeen was hidden from view beyond a shallow bend. Ten years ago, when his tour of duty ended, it had been painted dark...