“You know what I mean––don’t deny it!” Mrs. Burton shrilled.
“I don’t know what yez’re talkin’ about,” protested Phelan, backing toward the doorway that led to the kitchen.
The hysterical woman stopped, struggling for breath. When she could speak again she said fiercely:
“Who are you?”
“I––I”––– Phelan began.
“Tell me who you are or I’ll have you arrested––I’ll call the police.”
“Oh, for the love of hiven, don’t call the police!” begged Phelan, still backing toward the door.
“Then tell me what you are doing here.”
“I’ll answer no questions,” cried Phelan. With a desperate backward leap he gained the narrow doorway behind and vanished. He pulled the door shut and clung to the knob, hearing the muffled demand hurled at him: