The man’s voice called impatiently from the back of the apartment, “Maw, get away from that door and quit prying into other people’s business.”
“I don’t pry into other people’s business.”
“No, not much.”
“I thought he rang my bell, and—”
“Get away from that door.”
The door slammed.
I rang Helen Framley’s bell again.
Her door opened a cautious inch. I could see the brass chain which kept it from opening wider, could see cool, slate-colored eyes looking at me, and then heard her exclamation of surprise. It was the slot-machine girl. “How did you find me?”
“May I come in?”
“No— Certainly not— What do you want?”