“Mr. and Mrs. Stokes, just wait a minute.”
Everybody stopped in mid-transit, holding their positions as if they were standing to be photographed.
“Where is your room or rooms?”
“We’re together in a room on this floor out in the hall here opposite the stairs.”
“I’d rather Mrs. Stokes went up to the second floor.” He turned to Bassett, “You have space up there I suppose?”
“Space!” It came from Miss Pinkney before Bassett had time to answer—these hirelings of the law did not realize where they were. “We’ve put up more people here than you could get into one of those flea-bitten hotels up your way.”
“Take her things up there. You help her.”
Flora turned stricken eyes on her husband. He said nothing but very gently loosened her fingers on his arm. They trailed away, Miss Pinkney stalking ahead. Mrs. Cornell and Anne made their exit by the opposite door. Both were silent as they climbed the stairs. Mrs. Cornell’s door opened and closed on her, and Anne fared on to hers on the side stretch of the gallery. She looked down into the lighted room, saw Shine move toward the entrance, heard his voice, loud and startled:
“Why, there’s some one down by the dock!”
The other men wheeled sharply, on the alert. She stopped, head bent, listening.