"Two fifteen." He reset his watch.
Two fifteen. There would be a jamboree going on in his room at that time of a particularly confusing sort. He did not want to go there―not yet. Not until his blood brothers got through playing happy fun games with the Gate.
The Gate!
It would be in his room until sometime after four fifteen. If he timed it right― "Drive to the corner of Fourth and McKinley," he directed, naming the intersection closest to his boardinghouse.
He paid off the taxi driver there, and lugged his bags into the filling station at that corner, where he obtained permission from the attendant to leave them and assurance that they would be safe. He had nearly two hours to kill. He was reluctant to go very far from the house for fear some hitch would upset his timing.
It occurred to him that there was one piece of unfinished business in the immediate neighborhood-and time enough to take care of it. He walked briskly to a point two streets away, whistling cheerfully and turned in at an apartment house.
In response to his knock the door of Apartment 211 was opened a crack, then wider. "Bob darling! I thought you were working today."
"Hi, Genevieve. Not at all―I've got time to burn."
She glanced back over her shoulder. "I don't know whether I should let you come in―I wasn't expecting you. I haven't washed the dishes, or made the bed. I was just putting on my make-up."
"Don't be coy." He pushed the door open wide, and went on in.