“Sergeant Gray’s compliments, miss,” he said, saluting. Then, as an afterthought of particular fiendishness: “And he will be engaged for some time. If you would take charge of this slicker he’ll be much obliged to you.”
He saluted again, and the group swaggered down the street.
The girl sat in the car and looked after them. Then she glanced at the slicker, and a little frown gathered between her eyes. Had he, against her orders, gone back to deal with Mr. Booth alone? She was mystified and not a little indignant, and when she started the car again it was with a jerk of irritation.
Inside the hallway, behind the elevator, cursed and raged Sergeant Gray. At every step in the doorway he shook with apprehension. Behind him stretched a wooden staircase, toward which he cast agonised eyes. The elevator came down, discharged its passengers, filled again and went up. Outside in the brilliant street thousands of feet passed, carrying people fully clothed and entitled to a place in the sun. Momentarily he expected the climax of his wretchedness—that the girl would tire of waiting and come into the building. He plucked up courage after a time to peer round the corner of the elevator. The car was gone.
“What’ll she think of me?” he groaned.
Wild schemes of revenge surged in him. Murder with torture was among them. And always while he cursed and planned his eyes were on the staircase behind him.
Came a time, however, when the elevator descended empty, and the elderly man on the stool inside prepared to read a newspaper. He was startled by a husky whisper just beneath his left ear.
“Say, come here a minute, will you?”
He turned. Through the grille beside him a desperate face with one black eye was staring at him.
“Come here yourself,” he returned uneasily.