"I'll take a look at it," I interrupted him.
"Of course." He tore open the small envelope and took out a brass key. "I'll take you up."
"I'd rather go alone."
As he hesitated, I took out my billfold and separated a hundred-dollar bill from two others of its kind and laid it on his desk. "I'll leave a deposit—in case I should like it," I said, taking the key from his hand.
"I suppose it will be all right," he murmured doubtfully.
"Thank you," I called back over my shoulder. "I may be a while. I want to look it over carefully." I ignored the fact that he seemed to have more he wanted to say.
The office was small, but that made little difference to me. There was a clear view of the street from the window. That was all I cared about.
In one corner was a small packing case, left by the former tenant. I dragged it over by the window and sat down. From my grip I took a rifle barrel and stock and assembled them, and filled the magazine with ammunition. I kept part of my attention on the building down the street while I worked.
I hoped I had guessed right—that Zealley would get free of the police, and that he would return to his office.
The day-shift workers had begun to pour from the Mining building before a taxi drew up to the curb and a man in a yellow hat alighted.