Necropolis

walked up to the door, Matt got the feeling that the whole place, apart from that one room on the twelfth floor, might be deserted. There were no cars parked outside. He put his face against the glass door and looked into the reception area. It was empty. The door was locked, but there was a panel of buttons next to it, more than a hundred of them, numbered but with no names.
    Was this really a good idea? He stood there for a few seconds, cold and wet, and tried to work out his options. Han Shan-tung had suggested that Paul Adams might have been working with the Old Ones. He had been there when Scarlett was taken prisoner. But could he really have sentenced his own daughter to death? Surely not.
    At the end of the day, it didn't make any difference if Matt trusted him or not. He was freezing. He had to get inside, off the street. He had nowhere else to go.
    He began to ring the bells, one after another, beginning with 1200 and moving along, waiting briefly for each one to reply. There was silence until he reached 1213, then a crackle as a voice came over the intercom.
    'Yes?"
    "Mr. Adams?"
    "Who is this?"
    "I know it's very late, but I'm a friend of Scarlett's. I wonder if I could talk to you."
    "Now?"
    'Yes. Could you let me in?"
    A pause. Then a buzz, and the door opened.
    As Matt walked into the reception area, he became aware of a stench — raw sewage. A pipe had burst
    — he could hear it dripping, and the floor was wet underfoot. There was just enough light to make out a staircase leading up, but once he began to climb, he had to feel his way in total darkness. He counted twelve floors, sliding his hand along the banister, pressing his shoulder against the wall as he turned each corner. It really was like being blind, and he felt smothered, afraid that at any moment something would jump out and grab hold of him. But at last he arrived at a swing door, pushed it open, and found himself at the beginning of a long corridor. Light spilled out from an open door about halfway down.
    Scarlett's father was waiting for him, but Matt couldn't make him out because the light was behind him and he was in silhouette.
    "Who are you?" Paul Adams called out.
    "My name is Matt."
    "You're a friend of Scarry's?"
    "I want to help her."
    'You can't help her. You're too late."
    Matt walked down the corridor, afraid that Paul Adams would go back in and close the door before he could reach him. But Adams waited for him. Matt reached the door and saw a small, unhappy man with gray hair and glasses. Scarlett's father hadn't shaved for a couple of days, nor had he washed. He was wearing a blue shirt that might have been expensive when he had bought it but now hung off him awkwardly, as if he had been sleeping in it. And he had been drinking. Matt could smell the alcohol on his breath and saw it in the eyes behind the glasses. They were red with exhaustion and self-pity.
    "Mr. Adams…" Matt began.
    "I don't know you." Paul Adams looked at him blankly.
    "I told you. My name is Matt."
    ''You're soaking wet."
    "Can I come in?"
    Matt didn't wait for an answer. He pushed his way past and entered the flat. The place was a mess. There were dirty plates stacked in the sink and on the kitchen counter. Everything smelled stale and airless with the sewage creeping up from below. It was as if someone had died there… or maybe it was the place itself that had died. Once it had been luxurious. Now it was sordid and sad.
    Paul Adams closed the door. "Do you want something to eat?" he asked.
    "I'd like some tea," Matt said. The man didn't move, so he went into the kitchen and began to make it himself. He looked in the fridge for some food. There were only leftovers, but he helped himself anyway. It was only now that he realized how hungry he was. A clock on the oven showed twenty past four. Six hours had passed since he had left Macao.
    Paul Adams sat down. He had a glass of whiskey and he drank it in one swallow, then refilled it. 'You're English," he said.
    "I was at your home in Dulwich," Matt said. He was rummaging through a cupboard for a tea bag. "I tried to find Scarlett there. But she'd gone."
    "They've taken her."
    "Do you know where she is?"
    "No." He drank again. "I know who you are!" he exclaimed. He had only just worked it out. 'You're the boy they're all looking for. You're the reason why they wanted Scarlett."
    Matt didn't say anything. The kettle boiled and he made himself the tea, adding two spoons of sugar.
    "Matt Freeman. That's who