“We should have an elevator,” the fat man complained. “These awful stairs are bad for my heart. Leo hates them too.” He touched the dog’s head with a fat, grubby forefinger. “Such a beautiful creature, don’t you think?” He moved the dog forward a little as if inviting Ken’s inspection. “Do you admire dogs, sir?”
Ken edged around the fat man.
“Yeah, I guess I do. He’s certainly a fine animal,” he said uncomfortably.
“He has won many prizes,” the fat man went on. “Only this month he got a gold cup.”
The dog stared at Ken. Its eyes were like those of its master: dark, protruding and bloodshot.
Ken went on up the stairs. When he reached the top landing he paused. As he had walked up the remaining stairs, he had been listening for sounds of the fat man going down, but he had heard nothing.
He stepped softly to the banister rail and looked over.
On the landing below, the fat man stood motionless, looking up. Their eyes met and the fat man smiled. It was a curious sly, knowing smile, and it startled Ken. The Pekinese also looked up. Its flat, black-muzzled face was stolid with indifference.
Ken moved hurriedly back, and turned to face the green-painted front door on the far side of the landing. He was aware that his heart was pounding and his nerves were jumpy. The encounter with the fat man had shaken him.
If he hadn’t been sure the fat man was still standing on the lower landing, Ken would have about faced and got out of the house as quickly as he could. But the idea of having to pass the fat man again was more than his shaken nerves could stand.