“Yes, sergeant.”
Donovan walked out of the apartment.
Adams stared after him, then he went back into the bedroom to talk to Summerfeld.
II
Raphael Sweeting heard the urgent ring on his frontdoor bell, and he hastily wiped his sweating face on the sleeve of his dressing-gown.
He had seen the police cars arrive, and he knew, sooner or later, the front-door bell would ring.
What had happened? he asked himself. Something in the apartment above. He could hear the heavy footfalls overhead. His mind flinched away from murder, but he was sure she had been murdered. Just when he was settling down; just when he had been certain he had succeeded in dropping out of sight.
The bell rang persistently, and he looked hastily around the dusty, shabbily furnished room. All evidence of his evening activities had been hastily hidden. It had been a business to clear the room, but the arrival of the police cars had at least warned him a police visit was pending.
The big cupboard against the wall had been crammed with the mass of papers, envelopes, directories and the telephone books he used in his work, and the key had been turned. They wouldn’t dare open the cupboard unless they had a search warrant. Even if they did open it, they couldn’t pin anything on him, but it would tell them he was still up to his old tricks.
Leo, the Pekinese, crouched in the armchair, staring across the room at the front door. The dog breathed heavily, and looked with frightened eyes at its master as if it knew an enemy was on the far side of the door.