Orme quickly slipped into the darkness, the panel closed, and he heard the swish of the hanging as it dropped back against the board.
It was not too soon. Two soft thuds told him that the Japanese had dropped over the sill into the room.
He heard the woman give a well-feigned scream of surprise.
“’Scuse us, miss,”—it was Arima’s voice—“we looking for sneak thief. He come in here.”
“Be off with you. I’ve just come from the front room there, and there wasn’t a soul came in.”
“We saw him.”
“He must have gone out to the hall, then.” The woman’s voice had a note of mollification—as though she had suddenly recognized the right of the two Japanese to enter the apartment. “I didn’t hear him.”
A few words of Japanese colloquy; then Arima: “I look around. My friend go to hall.” A door closed; evidently Maku had gone out; and then Orme heard steps. After this there was a long wait, while the Japanese examined the other rooms, the woman evidently offering him her aid. At last they returned.
“Well, I go back,” said Arima. “I saw him come in the window. My friend will know. See you later.”
Presently the woman raised the hanging and whispered through the boards: “He went back down the fire-escape. His friend’s in the hall. He’ll find out you haven’t went down, and then he’ll come back.”