It would not be through the front door that Crane caught his first glimpse of his target.

Instead, it was to the balcony that Lory took, a full floor above street level with thin, gauzy curtains billowing behind her. Her dress and glitzy jewelry shimmered in the evening light, sleeveless but not so immodest that anyone who knew not what they were looking for would not realize they were passing under a brothel.

Even more impressively: what she was carrying. She braced a harp taller than herself, steps careful but sure as she brought it out. Then, she went back and reappeared with a posh cushioned bench. Lory ran her fingers up the harp in the full range of its distinctive notes, then started to pluck out a meandering tune.