“Yeah. I don’t know how to figure him. He may be a dick — he may not. He’s in Room 506 at the Metrolite — under the name you said he had — Harry Vincent.”
“You followed him into the hotel, then?” Flash asked.
“I did not!” Dip’s voice was ridiculing. “What was the use of that? I spotted him when he went in; then I beat it. I stopped off at Frankie Gull’s — you know, the speak where we met Pete Boutonne — and I buzzed the Metrolite Hotel from there. Got Vincent’s room number.”
Dip Riker waited for his companion to make some comment. Instead of replying, Flash Donegan frowned as he looked toward the window. He arose, walked by Dip, and raised the window shades slightly. He examined the window on the left; then slipped his hand beneath the shade and felt the lock.
“What’s the matter, Flash?” questioned Dip.
“Thought I saw the window shade move,” returned Donegan. “Funny — I generally keep this window locked. Seemed like some breeze was blowing against the shade. Couldn’t have been, though. The sash is down.”
He raised the shade, opened the window, and peered out into the courtyard. Still not satisfied, he leaned from the window and looked about.
His gaze turned downward, to the concrete area four stories below. Quizzically, Flash surveyed the inner walls of the building. His gaze was sharp; but he did not detect a shadowy shape that clung close to the wall beside and above the window. The shape resembled a huge, batlike creature. But it was utterly silent and motionless.
Flash pulled down the window and locked it. He lowered the shade, but left a tiny space, so that he could see the bottom of the sash. He left the other window the way he had found it. Then he strode back to his chair.
“Acting like you’ve got the jumps, Flash,” was Dip’s terse comment.