But when they reached the door of her studio, something (was it his guardian angel?) made Edwin hesitate.
“Come on up,” she said, urgently.
“It’s rather late,” objected Edwin.
“Nonsense! It’s only nine. Come on.”
Mystery was in her smile; or was it mystery?
For one second, two seconds, possibly three seconds he wavered. Then on the wall of the building opposite he seemed to see written in fiery letters the warning words of his aunt.
SOME PEOPLE NEW YORK ENNOBLES; OTHERS IT DRAGS STRAIGHT DOWN TO H——.
His soul was a battle-field of conflicting emotions. What, he asked himself, would Emerson have done in a case like this? That thought steadied him.
“No,” he said. “A thousand nevers. I’ll wait here.”
Pain showed in the green eyes of Valerie Keat.