“Well, thanks for your help. I’ll let you know if we want you at the inquest. Sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”
“You’re welcome,” she said indifferently, and reached out for a packet of mail.
Outside in the corridor, Conrad took out his billfold and had another long look at Frances Coleman’s photograph. The girl’s face drew him like a magnet. He couldn’t understand it, and he couldn’t remember ever having had such a feeling of intense interest for a girl as he was now feeling for this girl.
“What’s the matter with me?” he thought. “I’m behaving like a goddamn schoolboy.”
He put the photograph away, pushed his hat to the back of his head and swore softly under his breath. Then he walked quickly along the corridor to the row of elevators, jabbed the nearest button and waited. While he waited he caught his hand going towards his inside pocket for his billfold again, and he had to make a conscious effort to change its direction and fish out a pack of cigarettes.
V
The hands of the City Hall clock stood at five minutes past one o’clock as Conrad swung his car to the kerb outside a drug store. He crossed the sidewalk, pushed his way past the crowd besieging the quick-lunch counter and shut himself into a pay booth.
Madge answered his call.
“Is Van there?” Conrad asked.
“He’s just come in. Hold a moment.”