"It will do nicely, thank you," said Vandor, rubbing his white hands briskly together. "Yes, it will be ideal. I shall move my things in tonight."
"Through there?" she asked. "I'm not even sure what I've done with the key...."
"Do not worry. I have a way with locks," he smiled.
That smile, she thought, it makes me all queasy inside.
"Well," she said, trying to brush off the mildewed folding cot in the corner of the room and raising a cloud of fleas from the damp dust on the mattress, "all right. It'll be ten dollars a week."
Vandor Thobal made a short, snappy bow, and clicked his heels slightly. "Of course," he said, reaching inside his cloak, and coming out with a crisp new bill. "This should take care of it for awhile."
Mrs. Tibbets adjusted her glasses in the dim cellar and looked at the bill. "Five hundred dollars?" she said, with a little squeak in her voice. "Why, that's almost a year's rent!"
"Am I to understand there is a limit to my stay?" asked Vandor.
"Why, no," she said, quickly. "It's just that—I mean—Nobody gives a year's—No, of course not. No limit at all. Stay as long as you like."