Slowly she backed away from the window. The man outside immediately extended his hands with a gesture that a child would have understood. Supplication. Kitty paused, naturally. But did the man mean it? Might it not be some trick to lure her into opening the window? And what was he doing outside there anyhow? Her mind, freed from the initial hypnosis of the encounter, began to work quickly. If she ran from the kitchen to call for help he might be gone when she returned, only to come back when she was again alone.
Once more the man executed that gesture, his palms upward. It was Latin; she was aware of that, for she was always encountering it in the halls. Another gesture. She understood this also. The tips of the fingers bunched and dabbed at the lips. She had seen Italian children make the gesture and cry: “Ho fame!” Hungry. But she could not let him into the kitchen. Still, if he were honestly hungry—She had it!
In the kitchen-table drawer was an imitation revolver—press the trigger, and a fluted fan was revealed—a dance favour she had received during the winter.
She plucked it out of the drawer and walked bravely to the window, which she threw up.
“What do you want? What are you doing out there on the fire escape?” she instantly demanded to know.
“My word, I am hungry! I was looking out of the window across the way and saw you preparing your dinner. A bit of bread and a glass of milk. Would you mind, I wonder?”
“Why didn't you come to the door then? What window?” Kitty was resolute; once she embarked upon an enterprise.
“That one.”
“Where is Mr. Gregory?” Kitty recalled that odd letter.
“Gregory? I should very much like to know. I have come many miles to see him. He sent me a duplicate key. There was not even a crust in the cupboard.”