Harry had heard floorboards outside his office creak, as they always had done, as someone walked over them. He sighed, still scratching at the dog's ears at it wagged happily, tongue lolling. It was no surprise then that someone was coming up the stairs to see him, rather, it was who it was. That voice. He knew that voice.
He turned in his chair, looking unbelievingly at her, although he quickly changed his expression. "If it ain't Ann Wayland, Blitzer. I wonder what she's goin' so far from home?" He said, addressing the Staffordshire, but loud enough for her to hear him. "I suppose she better come in, and sit herself down and tell me why she's darkened my door in the same week as little Mary." He added, looking back to her with a small grin, "Would you like a drink? I've only got scotch, but you're welcome to share, Ann."