Iff sat up with a flush of excitement. “By George!” he cried—“there’s something in that!”
“It’s a chance,” said Staff thoughtfully.
The little man jumped up and began to pace the floor. To and fro, from the hall-door to the windows, he strode. At perhaps the seventh turn at the windows he paused, looking out, then moved quickly back to Staff’s side.
“Taxicab stopping outside,” he said in a low voice: “woman getting out—Miss Landis, I think. If you don’t mind, I’ll dodge into your bedroom.”
“By all means,” assented his host, rising.
Iff swung out of sight into the back room as Staff went to and opened the hall-door.
Alison had just gained the head of the stairs. She came to the study door, moving with her indolent grace, acknowledging his greeting with an insolent, cool nod.
“Not too late, I trust?” she said enigmatically.
“For what?” asked Staff, puzzled.
“For this appointment,” she said, extending a folded bit of paper.