Thoughtfully Raven picked up his shaving−brush and began to lather his face. He kept his eyes fixed on the window. It was only when he’d finished shaving that she reappeared. This time she was dressed in a red−and−white−spotted dress, and she came out on the little iron balcony and looked down into the street.
Raven could see a lot more of her. Again he felt a pang go through him. A tap at the door startled him and he growled, “Who is it?” laying his hand on the gun.
“Goshawk.”
He crossed the room and unlocked the door.
Goshawk came in with a tray. He was a little scraggy man with hard gimlet eyes and a heavily dyed moustache. He set the tray down on the bed.
Raven took him by his arm and pulled him to the window. “Who’s that dame?” he asked.
Goshawk stared and shook his head. “Search me,” he said indifferently. “Why?”
“Never mind why,” Raven snarled. “Find out at once. Send someone over to that house and find out who she is. I don’t care how you do it, and don’t make anyone suspicious, but find out.” He gave him a twenty−dollar bill. “Ten more if you get what I want.”
Goshawk shook his head. “Make it another twenty,” he said.
Raven, his face going white with fury, seized him by his scraggy neck. “You down−at−heel louse,” he said furiously; “you try an’ twist me an’ see what comes to you.”