Ken had to get as far away from this apartment house as he could before Fay’s body was found.
It might be possible, if he were very quiet, to creep down the stairs and pass the half-open door without Sweeting seeing or hearing him.
It was his only hope.
He started down the stairs, leaning against the wall, keeping away from the banister rail, which he feared might creak if he touched it.
He went down slowly, step by step, not making a sound. As he reached the last step to the landing, he stopped to listen.
He was just out of sight of the half-open door. If Sweeting were sitting in the hall he would see him as Ken crossed the landing. But if Sweeting had dozed off, Ken might be able to reach the next flight of stairs without being seen.
He braced himself, and, just as he moved forward, the fawn Pekinese dog came through the half-open door and stood looking up at him.
Ken remained motionless, more frightened than he had ever been before in his life.
He and the dog stared fixedly at each other for a long, agonizing moment. Then before he could make up his mind what to do, the front door opened wide and Sweeting came out on to the landing.
“Come along, Leo,” he said gently. “Time little dogs were in bed.”