“On my honor, Joe, I’ve never set eyes on the building and don’t know whether it’s stone or brick, three story or two.”
“Then what in the deuce—?”
“Patience! Is your house in the market?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps it is one of a number given me by a real estate agent to look up for a friend of mine. I’ll preserve the slip,” taking it from Joe and folding it up.
“It looks like a woman’s writing.”
“Yes, all writing does after a man has fallen into the habit of looking for letters day by day—letters that are delayed—Come, you married men are very suspicious.”
With that he dexterously whipped the subject around and began talking about something of decided interest, so that Joe, completely hoodwinked, speedily forgot about the singular little coincidence that had brought this address under the eyes of the owner of the house.
He was not quite done with Joe yet.
“You must own a good deal of property in and around the city, Joe?”