I showed her my driver’s licence and my licence as a private detective.
She said, “I was just taking a bath.”
“So I gathered.”
“Well,” she said, “no use telling you to make yourself at home. Do you have this much assurance with all your clients?”
“I knocked at the door,” I said. “You didn’t answer.”
“I left it unlocked. I thought you were — a girl friend.”
“Well,” I said, “I couldn’t help that. I didn’t want to stand out in the hall and shout my identity for the benefit of your neighbours.”
“No,” she admitted, “I suppose not. All right, I’ll get some clothes on.”
There evidently was a bedroom on the other side of the bath. She went through the bathroom, pulled the door shut, and I heard the bolt shoot into position. She trusted me about as much as a canary trusts a house cat.
I waited for about fifteen minutes; then she came back.