“That’s nice to know.” She picked up the tray. “Are you going ahead with this case?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll tell you this afternoon.” I reached for my hat. “I’ll be seeing you.”
It took me half an hour to reach Hollywood Avenue. The mid-morning traffic on Centre Avenue made the going slow, but I was in no hurry.
1882 Hollywood Avenue turned out to be a six-storey apartment block, that had been thrown together with an eye to quick profits and little if any comfort for the customers. The lobby was dim and shabby. The elevator was big enough to hold three people if they didn’t mind packing in like sardines. A chipped metal sign with a hand pointing to the basement stairs had Janitor printed on it in faded blue letters and hung lopsided on the wall.
I entered the elevator, pushed the grill shut and pressed the button marked 2nd Floor. The elevator rose creakily as if it was in two minds not to rise at all came to a sighing standstill two floors up. I tramped down an endless corridor flanked on either side by shabby, paint-chipped doors. After what seemed to me to be half a mile walk I arrived at Apartment 246, which was up a cul-de-sac, one of two apartments facing each other. I screwed my thumb into the bell-push, then propped up the wall and selected a cigarette. I wondered if Nurse Gurney was in bed. I wondered if she would be glad to see me again, and hoped she would.
I had to wait about a couple of minutes before I heard sounds, and then the door opened.
Nurse Gurney looked a lot more interesting out of her nurse’s uniform. She was wearing a housecoat thing that reached to her ankles, but fell apart from her knees down. Her feet and legs were bare.
“Why, hello,” she said. “Do you want to come in?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
She stood aside.