'Leo!' he said severely, 'I'm really ashamed of you.' He gave Ken that sly, knowing smile Ken had seen before. 'The poor little fellow imagines he is a watch dog,' he went on. 'So ambitious for such a mite, don't you think?'
He bent and gathered the dog up in his arms.
Neither Fay nor Ken said anything. They kept on, both of them knowing that Sweeting was staring after them, and his intense curiosity seemed to bum into their backs with the force of a blow-lamp.
Ken found he was sweating. There was something alarming and menacing about this fat, sordid little man. He couldn't explain the feeling, but it was there.
'Dirty little spy,' Fay said as she unlocked her front door. 'Always hanging about just when he's not wanted. Still, he's harmless enough.'
Ken doubted this, but he didn't say anything. It was a relief to get inside Fay's apartment and shut the front door.
He tossed his hat on a chair and moved over to the fireplace, feeling suddenly awkward.
Fay went up to him, slid her arms around his neck and offered him her lips.
For a moment he hesitated then he kissed her. She closed her eyes, leaning against him, but now he suddenly wished she wouldn't.
She moved away from him, smiling.
'I'll be with you in two seconds, Buster,' she said. 'Help yourself to a drink and fix me one too.'
She went into the bedroom and shut the door after her.
Ken lit a cigarette and moved over to the liquor cabinet. He was sure now that he shouldn't have come up to her apartment. He didn't know why, but the evening had gone dead on him. He was suddenly ashamed of himself. He thought of Ann. It was an inexcusable and disgraceful act of disloyalty. If Ann ever discovered what he had done, he could never look her in the face again.
He poured out a stiff drink and swallowed half of it.
The least he could do now, he told himself, moving slowly about the room, glass in hand, was to go home.
He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It showed a quarter to one.
Yes, he would go home, he decided, and feeling a little virtuous at making a sacrifice that most men, he felt, wouldn't have been able to resist, he sat down and waited.
A sudden rumble of thunder not far off startled him.
It was quite a walk from Fay's apartment to the parking lot. He wished she would hurry. He didn't want to get wet.
A flash of lightning penetrated the white curtains that were drawn across the window. Then thunder crashed violently overhead.
He got up, pushed aside the curtain and peered down into the street.
In the light of the street lamps he could see the sidewalk was already spotted with rain. Forked lightning lit up the rooftops and again thunder crashed violently.
'Fay!' he called, moving away from the window. 'Are you coming?'
There was no answer from the bedroom, and thinking she might have gone into the bathroom, he returned to the window.
It was raining now, and the sidewalk glistened in the lamp light. Rain made patterns on the window, obscuring his view.
Well, he couldn't walk through this, he told himself. He would have to wait until it cleared a little, and his determination not to spend the night with Fay began to weaken.
The damage was already done, he thought, crushing out his cigarette. No point really in getting soaked. She expected him to stay the night. She would most certainly be offended if he didn't. Besides, it might be safer to stay here than return home so late. Mrs. Fielding, his next-door neighbour, was certain to hear his car and wonder what he had been up to. She was certain to tell Ann on her return that he hadn't come home until the small hours.
He finished his whisky and went over to the cabinet to make himself another.
She's taking her time, he thought, looking towards the bedroom door.
'Hurry up, Fay,' he called. 'What are you doing?'
The silence that greeted him puzzled him. What was she up to? he wondered. She had been in there for over ten minutes.
He stood listening. He heard nothing but the steady tick-tick-tick of the clock on the mantelpiece and the rain beating against the window.
Then suddenly the lights in the room went out, plunging him into hot, inky darkness.
For a moment he was badly startled, then he realized a fuse must have blown. He groped for the table and set his glass down.
'Fay!' he called, raising his voice. 'Where's the fuse box? I'll fix it.'
He thought he heard a door creak as if it were stealthily opening.
'Have you got a flashlight?' he asked.
