Her lips froze to a thin line. Her eyes narrowed. 'Who did you say?' she asked. Her voice was thin and unmusical.
Tanner,' I repeated. 'Mr Dave Tanner.'
There's nobody of that name living here,' she said sharply and started to close the door as though to shut out something she feared.
'He's an old friend of mine,' I said hurriedly, leaning my bulk against the door. 'I've come a long way to see him. At his request,' I added.
There's no Mr Tanner living here,' she repeated woodenly.
'But — " I pulled the letter out of my wallet. This is Number Two, Harbour Terrace, isn't it?' I asked.
She nodded her head guardedly, as though not trusting herself to admit even that.
'Well, here's a letter I received from him,' I showed her the signature and the address. 'He's a Welshman,' I said. 'Dark hair and eyes and a bit of a limp. I've come all the way from Italy to see him.'
She seemed to relax. But there was a puzzled frown on her face as she said, It's Mr Jones you're wanting. His name's David and he has a bit of a limp like you said. But he's away to the fishing now.' And then the guarded look was back in her eyes as though she'd said too much.
'When will he be back?' I asked. There was an uneasy emptiness in my stomach, for he must have had a reason for changing his name, and I didn't like the frightened look in the girl's eyes.