She said quickly, "Mr. Wills! I didn't expect you."
I said, "You phoned me. I came as soon as I could."
She hesitated. "I did," she admitted. "It was—I'm sorry, Mr. Wills. It was an impulse. I shouldn't have done it."
"What was it, Rena?"
She shook her head. "I am sorry. It doesn't matter. But I am a bad hostess; won't you come in?"
The room behind the door was long and narrow, with worn furniture and a door that led, perhaps, to another room behind. It seemed dusty and, hating myself as a snooping fool, I took careful note that there was a faint aroma of tobacco. I had been quite sure that she didn't smoke, that evening we had met.