“Just down here,” the girl said. She walked at his side with small mincing steps, balancing herself unsteadily on her three-inch heels. “You’ll like it. I’ve got a radio. If you make it worth my while I’ll dance for you. Most of my friends like to watch me dance.”
She was leading him away from the waterfront towards a narrow dark street of tall sordid-looking houses.
He hurried her along, looking back from time to time over his shoulder, ready to break into a run at the slightest suspicious movement.
“Here we are,” the girl said, pausing outside a house at the corner of the street. “I said it wasn’t far, didn’t I?”
She climbed the steps, opened her handbag and took out her latch key.
He followed her into a dimly lit, shabby hall, and as he shut the front door he drew in a tight gasping breath of relief. He had made it! He was at least safe now until dark. He had no qualms about handling the girl. She wouldn’t start anything when he showed her his gun.
She began to climb the stairs, and he followed closely. When they reached the second-floor landing, she stopped outside a door facing the head of the stairs.
“This is it,” she said, and turned the handle of the door. “Oh, damn! My fool maid has locked me out again. She’s always doing it. Just wait here, darling, while I run down and get the spare key. I keep it in my mailbox.”
She patted his arm, giving him a bright, fixed smile, then she started down the stairs.
Pete took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and neck. He fumbled for a cigarette, lit it and flicked out the match. Then he moved over to the banister rail and looked down into the hall, two flights below.