“No one has called to see you.”
“If he comes, send him up, please. But make sure it is Mr. Windsor.”
Jarnow hurried up the stairs and entered a room at the back of the house. He went to the window, opened it, and peered down into the narrow alley below. Then he closed the window, and drew the shade to its full extent.
Having concluded these precautions, he turned on a study lamp that hung above a small table, and locked the door of the room.
A glance at his watch showed eight o’clock.
“He should be here now,” muttered Jarnow. “He said he would come, and he should be here by now.”
A minute ticked by, and the man in the room became restless. He paced the floor back and forth, his hands closing and opening nervously. He stopped by the door to listen. While he stood there, intent, he heard voices in the hallway.
There was a tap at the door, and the man drew back as though afraid. Then came the voice of the landlady.
“Mr. Windsor is here.”
Jarnow unlocked the door, and admitted the visitor.