That morning, in spite of interruptions, the excitement of the police visit
and the removal of Fay’s body which he had watched with morbid interest from behind his window curtain, he had prepared and mailed his usual quota of fifty carefully written begging letters. He knew from experience it would take at least ten days before he had any returns, and he wasn’t sure if the returns would amount to much when he did receive them.
For years now, Sweeting had relied on people’s charity and gullibility for an income. It gave him tremendous satisfaction to be his own master. His beautifully written letters to anyone who happened to be in the news, especially those who had inherited money or who had had a spectacular success, explaining his distressed circumstances and asking them to send him a few dollars, thereby casting their bread upon the waters, brought him in enough to keep him in mild comfort. When the returns were bad, he resorted to blackmail or picking pockets, and in this sideline he had been unfortunate to come up against the police. He had already served, over a period of twenty years, eight years in jail, and he had no wish to go inside again.
As he stood on the edge of the kerb, he was thinking that he would have to pick a pocket if he was to pay his rent, due at the end of the week.
The events of the morning and the visit from Sergeant Donovan had badly shaken his nerve, and he tried to think of a less risky method to raise the money.
Then as he was about to step off the kerb, he saw a tall man come striding out of the side entrance of the Eastern National Bank.
Sweeting recognized him immediately. Here was the man who had brought Fay Carson home last night!
His mind in a flutter of excitement, Sweeting bolted across the road and set off after him.
Sweeting had long ago learned that it was fatal to his own interests to give information to the police. So when Donovan had asked him if he had seen anyone with Fay, he had kept his mouth shut.
If he had liked, Sweeting could have given Donovan a lot of useful information. He had seen Ken leave Fay’s apartment; but some twenty minutes before Ken had left, Sweeting had heard someone bolt down the stairs from Fay’s apartment.