The woman nodded positively.
"I'm certain sure of it," she said. "I remember saying more than once to my gentlemen on the different floors, that Mr. Spatola must be awfully lonely sometimes. Mr. Crawford would often come up here and smoke with him and play a game or two of Pedro. Mr. Hertz tried it a couple of times; but him and Mr. Spatola couldn't hit it very well."
"How many lodgers have you?"
"I have rooms for nine. Just now there are seven. But only four are steadies—Mr. Hertz, Mr. Crawford, Mr. Sagon and Mr. Spatola. Mr. Hertz is an inspector of the people who canvass for the city directory; he took the parlor after Mr. Spatola gave it up. He drinks a little, but he's a perfect gentleman for all that. Mr. Crawford is a traveling man, and is seldom home; but he pays in advance, so I don't never worry about him. Mr. Sagon is what they call an expert. He can't speak much English yet, but sometimes even the government," in an awed tone, "sends for him to come to the customs house to tell them how much diamonds are worth, that people bring in. He works for Baum Brothers and Wright. The others," bulking them as being of no consequence, "are all gentlemen who are employed on the directory under Mr. Hertz."
"Have you any Italian lodgers other than Mr. Spatola?"
The woman shook her head.
"No," she said, "and I don't want none, if this is the way they carry on."
"Are there any other rooming houses in the street?"
"No, sir. It's only a block long, and I know every house in it. I'm the only one as takes lodgers."
"Are there any Italians in business in the block, or employed in any of the business places?"