Harry shook his head. “You were right about seeing the light.”
“And… come on, Harry, what’s going on over there?”
“Not much, really. In fact, everything is perfectly normal.”
Max frowned. “What do you mean, normal? Is there, or is there not a spy over there?”
“No spies, Max.”
“Then… part of a terrorist group?” Max asked hesitantly.
“Sorry, Max, no terrorists either.”
“You’re not going to tell me Thompson is home. I won’t believe that because the light was not in his room.”
Harry sighed. “No, Thompson isn’t home. A friend of his daughter is staying there temporarily.”
“Friend of his daughter. A likely story. I thought you were smarter than that, Harry.”
“It’s true,” Harry said. “She’s an investigative reporter, a pretty good one too. I’ve seen some of her documentaries.”
“Are you pulling my leg?” Max asked.
“No, Max, I’m not. She has a badly broken leg and needed someplace to recuperate in privacy. Thompson offered her the use of his house while he’s away.”
“But… what about that stuff I overheard, the things she was saying?”
“She’s trying to make a career change, wants to settle in one place and write.”
“Isn’t that what she’s been doing on television?”
“Sort of, but she wants to write books, espionage and thrillers, using her travels as background. You overheard her dictating notes and ideas she wants to include in the book.”
Max looked disappointed as he stood up and walked slowly to the door. “So then… no spy?”
“The only spy among us, Max, is you. Now please stay home tonight, or at least walk only in well-lit areas. I have some sleep to catch up on. Good night.”
“Good night, Harry.”
Harry shut the door behind him. “And no sleepwalking,” he mumbled under his breath.
