“I know that. But it’s a curious thing just the same.”
The woman raised her shoulders slightly, and began to put away the stock she had taken out for Orme’s benefit.
“Who paid this to you?” persisted Orme.
“How should I remember? I can’t keep track of all the persons that come in the store during the day.”
“But I should think that anything so queer as this——” He saw that he could get nothing from her except by annoying her.
The woman glared. “What you a botherin’ about? Why don’t you leave well enough alone?”
Orme smiled. “Tell me one thing,” he said, “do you know a Japanese that lives hereabouts?”
“Oh,” said the woman, “so you’re one of the gentlemen he was expectin’, eh? Well, it’s the front flat, two flights up.”
“Thank you,” said Orme. He walked out to the street, whence a backward glance showed him the woman again concealed in her newspaper.
At one side of the shop he found the entrance to a flight of stairs which led to the floors above. In the little hallway, just before the narrow ascent began, was a row of electric buttons and names, and under each of them a mail-box. “3a” had a card on which was printed: