CHAPTER I
DEATH INTERRUPTS
A taxicab skirted around the corner. Violently, brakes clamped on before the third house in the row. An odd, elongated figure stepped briskly to the sidewalk, hurriedly thrust a bill into the driver’s hand, and then, looking neither to right nor left, hurried up the steps to the house.
Within the hallway, the man stood for a moment, as though enjoying a sense of security for that brief interval.
The dim light revealed his thin, pale face, and his slightly stooped figure, clad in a poorly fitted gray suit. He was about thirty-five years of age, but the worried expression of his features made him look older.
A middle-aged woman came down the stairs and smiled as she greeted the new arrival.
“I hadn’t expected you for another week, Mr. Jarnow,” she said, “but your room is ready.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson,” returned the man at the door. “You’re always ready here. This is one rooming house that seems like home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jarnow. But I am sorry that you had to come back to Philadelphia during this hot spell. The last few days have been scorchers. You must have found it cooler, away from town—”
“I had to hurry back, because I’m expecting a visitor — a Mr. Windsor. Has he come?”