During those three days, we were all busy trying to find Myra’s father. Consequently, we didn’t see much of each other.
In spite of this, I was aware of a subtle change that had come over Myra. She was kinder and she did not pick quarrels with Bogle. She looked different somehow, although I did not stop to analyse just why she did look different. She also clung more strongly than ever to her policy of honesty, which unsettled us all.
The first real indication that things weren’t right happened on the third night of our stay in New York. I had been around the various Press Clubs hoping to pick up some clue to Shumway and I guess I must have been doing myself rather well. I wasn’t exactly tight, but I’d had enough to make me hesitate about ascending the stairs in the dark. Also, I couldn’t find the light switch.
I was standing in the lobby trying to make up my mind whether I’d go up on my hands and knees or sleep in the living-room, when I heard the sound of someone coming up the steps to the apartment. A moment later the front door opened and someone came in.
“Who’s that?” I said, peering into the darkness.
There was a faint gasp and I recognized Myra’s voice.
“Put the light on, will you?” I said, “I’ve been searching for the switch for the last five minutes.”
She didn’t say anything, but ran upstairs. I could just make out her shadowy form as she slipped past me.
“Well, that’s a nice way to treat a guy,” I said, “can’t you even say hello?”
By this time, she’d reached the top of the stairs and had disappeared.