knocked with the knocker. In maybe thirty seconds the door opened and there was Stewart Granger. He wore dark gray slacks and a white broadcloth shirt with the cuffs rolled up and the collar open. White hair showed at the open collar of his shirt and a small crucifix on a gold chain was around his neck. His thick silver hair was brushed back and his face had a healthy outdoor color. He smelled of bay rum, and his smile was open and honest and full of magnetism. Through the open doorway the air was cool. Central air-conditioning.
I said, 'My name is Spenser, Mr. Winston, and I've been assaulted by a couple of your church deacons.'
He raised his eyebrows. 'Reverend,' he said.
'Excuse me. Reverend Winston. I've been assaulted by some of your deacons. The press is after me for details. The police are after me to press charges, my lawyer wants me to sue. But I'd rather talk with you and see if we can't avoid trouble.'
'That seems sensible, Mr. . . .'
'Spenser,' I said again. 'With an S, like Edmund Spenser.'
'The poet,' he said. 'Yes,' I said.
'Well, come in,' Winston said. 'Perhaps we can have a cool drink and a chat and work out whatever seems to be the matter.'
'Thank you,' I said, and he ushered me in. It was a long high hallway paneled in walnut. We turned right and went into a cool greenish room full of plants. One wall was glass that extended the length of the room and arched up to form a curved glass roof eight feet or so out beyond the room. The floor was polished flagstone and the furniture mostly wicker. There was a small fountain in the glass extension and several of the plants were so tall that they shaded us. The glass was tinted green so the sun didn't penetrate and the air-conditioning could do its work.
'Sit down, Mr. Spenser. A glass of white wine perhaps, or a glass of ale?'
'Ale is fine,' I said. I sat in a green-cushioned wicker chair. Winston sat on a wicker sofa, green-cushioned as well, and crossed his legs and touched a button on the end table near his right hand. He was wearing soft burgundy-colored Gucci loafers and no socks. His ankles were tan. A maid appeared in one of those maid outfits that you see in the movies.
'Two glasses of ale, please, Peggy,' Winston said. The maid departed. Winston took a long-stemmed briar pipe from a rack on the end table and began to fill it from a leathercovered humidor on the coffee table. The house was very quiet. When Winston got the thing packed to his satisfaction he fired it with one of those little jet flare lighters that pipe smokers use and he was getting a good draw going when the maid came back with two open bottles of Old India Pale Ale on a tray, and two tall glasses. She set the tray down on the coffee table between us and poured some ale into each glass, getting a good head on it, then she left. Winston exhaled some smoke, took his pipe from his mouth, picked up a glass of ale, and gestured at me. I picked up my glass. We both drank. Winston put his pipe back into his mouth, made sure it was going good, and said, 'Now, what is this business about assault.'
'Well, sir,' I said, 'I was just sitting in my car outside your founding church grounds up in Middleton and these two deacons came out and attacked me.'
'And you had to protect yourself,' Winston said.
I nodded.
'You did so successfully,' Winston said. 'Both men are hospitalized.'
I made a sympathetic cluck.
'You had been parked outside there for several days. You had followed our courier vehicles when they went out. Previous to that you were making inquiries about a member of the church community from Mr. Owens.'
'That's true,' I said. I sipped a little more ale. Bitter. Good title for my memoirs--Bitter Ale.
'Mr. Owens informed you that the young woman was quite well and had sought sanctuary with us. You were unsatisfied, and you were asked to leave.'
Winston's voice was rich and pleasant. The smell of his pipe tobacco was rich and pleasant. The house was rich and pleasant. So was Winston.
'Also true,' I said.
'So the deacons were asked to make you stop what was viewed as harassment. Strategically that was sound. Tactically it was an error. You were more vigorous in your own defense than we had counted on.'
'For my age,' I said.
Winston smiled. 'And now you are here,' he said.
'Persistence.'
'Better than skill sometimes,' I said.
'I believe that's so,' Winston said. 'But I am afraid that I must support Mr. Owens. The concept of sanctuary is a very old one, and no church can treat it lightly. I believe that your concern is Miss Spellman's well-being. And I realize that a man like you trusts visible evidence and little else. Would my personal assurance of her happiness and safety suffice?'
'No.'
Winston took his pipe from his mouth and held it in his right hand and rubbed his chin with his thumb, the pipe stem pointing obliquely away from him. His ale grew headless on the coffee table.
'What would satisfy you?' 'See her, talk with her, alone.'
'And perhaps to take her by force and, as the phrase has it so elegantly, de-program her?'
'No,' I said. 'If she's where she wants to be, she can stay.'
'Then I'm to trust you?'
