“Officer!” She clutched his sleeve and pointed toward the tobacco shop. “There—hurry!”
The patrolman’s eyes followed her pointing finger. A second-story window opened above their heads and a frowsy person, disturbed by the woman’s harsh voice, looked down into the street. Pinto regarded the speaker with apparent unconcern, recognizing the housekeeper of Sylvanus Gage. Another window opened across the street, and a second face looked down on them.
Officer Pinto, schooled by previous experiences with overexcited females, casually inquired what might be the matter.
“Matter!” retorted the woman. “Murder—that’s what’s the matter. Why don’t you get a move on?”
Pinto permitted himself to be led along. The driver of a milk wagon halted his nag to watch the commotion. The woman, jabbering and shivering, opened the door of the tobacco store, pushed the officer inside and switched on the light above the counter.
“There!” She pointed at a door in the rear of the dingy shop. “He—Mr. Gage—sleeps back there.”
“Well, what of it?” An impatient look cloaked Pinto’s real feelings. “He’s got to sleep some place, ain’t he?”
The woman’s eyes blazed. “You stand there handing out sass while he—he may be dying back there.” Trying to steady herself, she gathered up the folds of the tattered robe she wore. “My room’s right above his,” she explained. “A few moments ago I jumped out of bed, thinking I’d heard a sound.”
“A sound, eh? This town is chockfull of them things.” Pinto leveled an uneasy glance at the door in the rear. “What kind of sound was it you thought you heard?”
“What kind of sound! You ain’t paid for asking fool questions, Officer Pinto. All day long I felt in my bones that something awful was going to happen, and when that noise woke me up I was scared stiff. I grabbed a few clothes and ran down here, but the door to Mr. Gage’s room was bolted on the inside. He always shoots the bolt before he goes to bed. I knocked, but not a sound came from the inside. Then I shouted loud enough to raise the dead, but——”