As soon as Arthur's boot stepped on the carpet behind the store door, he could hear a hint of fear behind the greeting.
His gaze swept across the store's contents like a knife, then landed on the face behind the counter.
The elderly man with gray sideburns huddled behind the counter with a half-bent posture, wearing a brown wool vest washed to white, with cuffs frayed and severely faded. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crowded together, with one hand resting on the counter and the other hand suspended in the air, not knowing where to place it.
"Mr. Fagin?" Arthur's tone was calm, as if reminding, yet also confirming: "Long time no see."
"Ar...Arthur Superintendent!" Fagin's voice carried a slight tremor, as if the words had struck him in the lung: "Ah no, I suppose you're no longer a superintendent...I heard, I heard you've been...promoted, perhaps even became a Sir?"
