She drew the blind aside an inch and looked cautiously out. The intruder was standing so close to the window that it was possible even in the uncertain light to get an adequate view of her: and what she saw reassured Fanny. She returned to her anxious husband with words of cheer.
“That’s no dick,” she said. “I can tell ’em a mile off.”
“Then who is she?”
“You’d better ask her. Listen, you go and kid her along and I’ll sneak out. Then we can meet somewhere when you’re through. It’s a shame having to waste this nice supper, but we’ll go to a restaurant. Listen, I’ll be waiting for you at the Astor.”
“But if she’s not a dick, why not stay where we are?”
“You don’t want people knowing that I’m here, do you? Suppose your boss heard of it, what would he say?”
“That’s true. All right, then. Wait for me at the Astor. Though it’s kind of a swell place, isn’t it?”
“Well, don’t you want a swell place to dine at on your wedding-night?”
“You’re right.”
“I’m always right,” said Fanny, giving her husband’s cheek a loving pinch. “That’s the first thing you’ve got to get into your head, now you’re a married man.”
Mullett returned to the sitting-room and switched on the light again. He felt fortified. He opened the window with something of an air.
“You were saying, ma’am?”
Mrs. Waddington was annoyed.
“What do you mean by going away and slamming the window in my face?”
“Had to see to something in the kitchen, ma’am. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“There is. I wish to know who the young woman is who is in the apartment.”
“No young woman in this apartment, ma’am.”
Mrs. Waddington began to feel that she was approaching this matter from the wrong angle. She dipped in her bag.
“Here is a ten-dollar bill.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I should like to ask you a few questions.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
“And I shall be obliged if you will answer them truthfully. How long have you been in Mr. Finch’s employment?”
“About a couple of months, ma’am.”
“And what is your opinion of Mr. Finch’s morals?”
“They’re swell.”
“Nonsense. Don’t attempt to deceive me. Is it not a fact that during your term of employment you have frequently admitted female visitors to this apartment?”
“Only models, ma’am.”
“Models!”
“Mr. Finch is an artist.”
“I am aware of it,” said Mrs. Waddington with a shiver. “So you persist in your statement that Mr. Finch’s mode of life is not irregular?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then,” said Mrs. Waddington, twitching the ten-dollar bill neatly from his grasp, “It may interest you to know that I do not believe you.”
“Here, hey!” cried Mullett, deeply moved. “You gave me that!”
“And I have taken it back,” said Mrs. Waddington, replacing the bill in her bag. “You do not deserve it.”
Mullett slammed the window, outraged in his finest feelings. For some moments he stood, fermenting. Then, seething with justifiable indignation, he switched off the light once more and went out.
He had reached the foot of the stairs, when he heard his name spoken, and, turning, was aware of a long policeman regarding him with a mild friendliness.
“Surely it is Mr. Mullett?” said the policeman.
“Hullo?” said Mullett, somewhat embarrassed. Habit is not easily overcome, and there had been a time when the mere sight of a policeman had made him tremble like a leaf.
“You remember me? My name is Garroway. We met some weeks ago.”
“Why, sure,” said Mullett, relieved. “You’re the poet.”
“It is very nice of you to say so,” said Officer Garroway, simpering a little. “I am about to call at Mr. Beamish’s apartment now with my latest effort. And how has the world been using you, Mr. Mullett?”
“All right. Everything hunky-dory with you?”
“Completely. Well, I must not detain you. No doubt you are on your way to some important appointment.”
“That’s right. Say!” said Mullett, suddenly inspired. “Are you on duty?”
“Not for the moment.”
“But you wouldn’t object to making a cop?”
“By no means. I am always willing—and, indeed, anxious—to make a cop.”
“Well, there was a suspicious character on our roof just now. A woman. I didn’t like the look of her.”
“Indeed? This is extremely interesting.”
“She was snooping around, looking in at our windows, and I don’t think she’s up to any good. You might go and ask her what she wants.”
“I will attend to the matter immediately.”
“If I was you, I’d pinch her on suspicion. So long.”
“Good night, Mr. Mullett.”
Mullett, with the elation which comes from a good deed done, moved buoyantly off to his tryst. Officer Garroway, swinging his nightstick, climbed thoughtfully up the stairs.
III
Mrs. Waddington, meanwhile, had not been content with a policy of watchful waiting. She was convinced that the shadow which she had seen on the blind had been that of a young woman: and instinct told her that in an apartment near Washington Square where there was a young woman present events were not likely to remain static for any considerable length of time. No doubt the man she had questioned would have warned the young woman of her visit, and by now she had probably gone away. But she would return. And George Finch would return. It was simply a question of exercising patience.
But she must leave the roof. The roof was the first place the guilty pair would examine. If they found it empty, their fears would be lulled. The strategic move indicated was to go downstairs and patrol the street. There she could stay until things began to happen again.
She was about to move away, and had already taken a step towards the door that led to the stairs, when a slight creaking noise attracted her attention and she was surprised to observe the window swinging open.
It opened some six inches: then, caught by a gust of wind, closed again. A moment later, there was another creak
