“And suppose she should quit reading a novel and…”
“She won’t. Donald, you’d love my sister. She’s a sweet, innocent girl. Her heart’s been absolutely broken, and the only thing she does is read. She reads all the time. She doesn’t go out. She’s eating her heart out. It’s the most pathetic thing. Donald, when you see her you’ll realise the truth of what I’m telling you. You won’t hold it against me what I’ve done. And I’ll — I’ll show you I’m really a good scout, Donald. Honest I will. I’ve been thinking about you. I couldn’t sleep last night. I didn’t want to play you for a — well, you know — do the way I did.”
She took my arm, pushed me out of the door, pointed to the door down the corridor. “Right in there, Donald, and wait. It won’t take long. I’ll be with you.”
I walked a few steps, waited until she’d closed the door, then tiptoed to the end of the corridor, down a short flight of stairs, and peered through a curtained, arched doorway into a living-room furnished in Mission style.
A brunette was spread out on a chaise-lounge, a book in her hand, a cigarette in her fingers. She was reading so intently that her eyes seemed to bore holes in the page. Apparently there was no one else in the house.
I went back to the bedroom door Lucille had indicated. It was a bedroom very similar to the other, except that the windows opened on the side of the house that was toward the adjoining lot. A cord had been pulled which stretched the curtains all the way across the windows on the side.
It was a girl’s bedroom, with toilet things spread out on the dresser, a nice bed, a deep, comfortable chair with a standard lamp behind it, a table with some magazines and a book.
I settled down in the chair to wait, then I remembered the lipstick on my face. I went over to the mirror, took my handkerchief and rubbed off the sticky red stain which had smeared my mouth.
I looked around for a telephone. There was no phone in the bedroom.
I settled down in the chair, glanced at a magazine, then picked up the book.