The occupant asked the question as Nick reached the door.
“Going home.”
“Not yet.”
There was a tone of triumph in the fellow’s voice.
“And why not?”
“I want to know who you are, and why you came here with such a story at this time of night.”
Nick was about to brush past the fellow and pass on downstairs, when a low cry came from the direction of the bathroom.
He placed his hand on his weapon and hastened back.
The occupant of the flat kept close to his heels.
“You seem to have changed your mind,” he said, with a sneering laugh.