“I’ve come up the stairs when his door was open.”
“Does he seem to be pretty busy with his teaching?”
“Evenings, he is. And some come in the afternoon. I always know, because they thud on the floor so when they wrestle.”
“And mornings?”
“He generally seems to be away mornings.”
“I fancy he’s what you’d call a noisy neighbor,” said Orme.
“Oh, I don’t mind. There’s more or less noise up here sometimes.” She smiled frankly. “Spirits can make a lot of noise. I’ve known them to throw tables over and drag chairs all around the room.”
“Well”—Orme was not interested in spirits—“be sure you don’t let anybody in here until I come back.”
Again she nodded. Then she went into the reception-hall and he heard her push the bolt of the door. She did not return, but her steps seemed to move into one of the other rooms.
Orme went to the window, pushed it up, and climbed out on the fire-escape. He was glad to see that the wall across the court was windowless. He might be observed from the buildings that backed up from the next street, but they apparently belonged to a large storage loft or factory. There were no idle folk at the windows.