It was strange how an animal could take the edge off loneliness, George thought. Without Leo, he would have gone out and wandered aimlessly about the streets.
He got up and crossed to the bed. For some minutes he stroked the cat’s fur and talked to it, pleased with its ecstatic response. He rolled it gently onto its back, and the cat, its eyes half closed, encircled his hand with its front paws, its claws carefully sheathed. While he fondled Leo, George brooded about their relations. Leo was important to him: how empty his life would be without the cat! It came as a revelation that he was entirely alone, that no one bothered with him, and he had no friend he could trust. A wave of lonely emotion swept through him, and his eyes watered. He didn’t care, he told himself, picking Leo up and holding the cat in his arms, its face against his face, its whiskers tickling his nose. He could get on all right alone so long as he kept his health and had Leo for company. All the same, it was a pretty dreary outlook. As he was beginning to pity himself, he heard the telephone ringing downstairs. The bell startled him. Somehow, it sounded creepy, coming up from the deserted basement. He put Leo down and went to the door. It wasn’t much use going all the way downstairs. By the time he was down the hell would have stopped ringing. He opened his door and glanced along the dimly lit passage. The bell was ringing insistently—a muffled, nagging note that disturbed him. He shrugged his shoulders uneasily. Let it ring, he decided. It was certainly not for him. No one had ever bothered to ask for his telephone number. It was probably for one of the boarders, or for Mr Rhodes. But he could not bring himself to shut the door. He had a guilty feeling that he ought to answer the telephone and see who was calling. Then, as he had almost made up his mind to go down, the bell ceased to ring. He closed the door and went hack to his armchair, but a moment later he was on his feet once more as the bell began to ring again.
This time he did not hesitate; he lumbered out of the room, along the passage and down the stairs. It seemed a long way down, and the hell nagged him. He descended the basement stairs with a rush, snatched up the receiver and said “Hello?” in a breathless voice.
“You’ve taken your time, haven’t you?” a flat, metallic voice said in his ear.
“Who’s that? Who do you want?”
“It’s Brant,” the voice said impatiently, as if he ought to have known. “I thought you’d be in. Look, George, I want you to do me a favour.”
“Brant? Why, hello… I didn’t expect you…”
“Never mind that. Have you anything to do this afternoon?”
“Me?” Of course George had nothing to do. He never had on Saturday afternoons; but how did Brant know? Anyway, he wasn’t going to admit it: at the same time, he didn’t intend to miss anything. He spoke with caution. “Well, I don’t know. I was reading…”
“You can read any time, can’t you?” Brant’s voice jeered at him. “I wouldn’t ask you, only it’s important. I want someone to go to Joe’s and leave a message.”