Gabby had gone to bed early Saturday night. The work of catching twelve white pigeons and cleaning up their droppings had exasperated and exhausted her. By five o'clock Sunday morning she was half awake and positive that she heard thumpings at her door. She got up, put on a pyjama top and padded out to the studio room. The pigeons rustled and cooed in their cage. The thumpings continued. She put the chain on the door, opened it an inch and peeped out into the corridor. A large man was squirming restlessly on her door mat trying to get comfortable. It was Lennox.
She bit her lip, debated with herself, and finally unchained the door and pulled him in. He was semi-conscious, incoherent, rank with alcohol, sweat and vomit. Gabby locked the door and tried to get Lennox on his feet. He got to his hands and knees and no further.
"Make a bes'damn oxfords inna worl'," he muttered.
"On your feet," she said.
"Name's Lefty Leftwich an' Icn lick any man inna—" He expired.
She pushed and prodded him down the foyer, through the living room and into the bath. He crawled on hands and knees, whimpering dolorously. In the bathroom, she tugged and tussled until she got his clothes off. She threw the clothes into a corner and worried the hulk until it climbed into the tub. Gabby turned the shower on hot. Lennox lay under the deluge, crooning. She took off her pyjama top, got a wash rag and soap and cleansed him thoroughly. Then she turned off the water, placed a giant bath towel on the floor and got him out of the tub and sprawling on the towel. She dried his back, kicked him over and dried his front. Then Gabby harried him to her bed where he lay, prone and catercorner, snoring raucously.
She took Jake's clothes to the kitchen and placed them in a carton for the cleaners, first emptying out the pockets. On the table she placed his pocket watch, chain, keys, gimmick book, silver pencil, three dollars in change, one hundred and five dollars in bills, and last of all, a blue envelope stamped special delivery and addressed to "Who He?" in a familiar hysterical handwriting. She stared at that envelope for five ghastly minutes.
It was half-past seven. Gabby made coffee, drank it, put on a dressing gown and wandered fearfully around the living room for two hours. At last she went back to the bedroom. Lennox hadn't moved. She picked up the phone and dialed the number of Jake's apartment. She let the phone ring until Cooper answered in an inhuman voice.
"Sam," she whispered. "This is Gabby. I've got to see you right away. Can I come up, please?"
"Now?" Cooper croaked.