A girl answered his ring, but at sight of him she shut the door hurriedly, explaining through the crack:
"Mrs. MacDougal is out and you can't come in."
"But I want to talk to you."
"I'm not allowed to talk to reporters," she declared. "Mrs. MacDougal won't let me."
A slight Scotch accent gave Anderson his cue. "MacDougal is a good
Scotch name. I'm Scotch myself, and so are you." He smiled his
boarding-house smile, and the girl's eyes twinkled back at him.
"Didn't she tell you I was coming?"
"Why, no, sir. Aren't you a reporter?"
"I've been told that I'm not. I came to look at a room."
"What room?" the girl asked, quickly. "We haven't any vacant rooms."
"That's queer," Anderson frowned. "I can't be mistaken. I'm sure Mrs.
MacDougal said there was one."
The door opened slowly. "Maybe she meant the one on the second floor."