“Where did he come from?”
“I don’t know. I just happened to turn my head and caught a glimpse of him pussyfooting along behind. His face looked as though he’d suddenly received the bill for his new income tax.”
“You don’t think he could have been following us?”
Mason shook his head. “Not that chap. He’s some mousy retired bird who lives somewhere in the neighborhood. You certainly gave him something to think about. The way he whisked himself around that corner, you’d have thought he was a puppet someone was jerking on a string.”
Della Street said, “I thought I was putting on a swell act. My walk alone must have been enough to startle him. I felt like Fatima, the sideshow Turkish dancing girl.”
“Well,” Mason said, “he’s got something to tell his friends now. He’s really seen a moll in action. What’s the number of this house where Luceman lived?”
“Thirteen-o-nine Delington.”
“That’s in the next block. Now listen, when I go in, you stand out by the curb. The minute you see anyone coming along the sidewalk, no matter who it is, walk up to the front door and ring the bell once. Don’t seem to hurry. Don’t act self-conscious, and, above all, don’t look back over your shoulder. Simply walk up and ring the bell, making your action look as natural as possible.”
“Ring it once?” she asked.
“That’s right. Now, if that person should turn toward the house, ring the bell three times, three short, sharp rings. When you have done that, turn to walk back toward the street, and then apparently see this person for the first time. You can smile and say, ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone home.’ Then go to the next house and ring the bell. When someone comes to the door, ask them if they’re taking the Chronicle. Tell them you’re representing the newspaper and would like very much to take their subscription on a special introductory offer. Talk loudly enough so you can be heard across to the next house.”