"Not here," I protested. "The very thought of him makes me quake."
"If he comes here, better take him in. I want to know where he is."
I tried to say that I wouldn't have him, but the old habit of the ward asserted itself. From taking a bottle of beer or a slice of pie, to telling one where one might or might not live, the police were autocrats in that neighborhood. And, respectable woman that I am, my neighbors' fears of the front office have infected me.
"All right, Mr. Graves," I said.
He pushed the parlor door open and looked in, whistling. "This is the place, isn't it?"
"Yes. But it was up-stairs that he—"
"I see. Tall woman, Mrs. Ladley?"
"Tall and blond. Very airy in her manner."
He nodded and still stood looking in and whistling. "Never heard her speak of a town named Horner, did you?"
"Horner? No."