Annan stared at her as though she suddenly had gone mad.
“Yaas, suh,” continued the negress, “I’se quit, I has. Too many doin’s in this here flat to suit me. I guess you all didn’t know Miss Eris had a husband sleepin’ here,” she added with a bland malignance that stunned him.
He inspected the wench in silence for a moment, then turned sharply on his heel and went down stairs.
His taxi was waiting. He drove directly home, entered his study and sat down to the sorry business of waiting.
All the morning and afternoon he waited there, his face white and set, his grim gaze fixed on space.
About five o’clock he called up. The house did not answer.
Eris had asked him not to call her at the studio for obvious reasons, and he never had done so, except by previous agreement. But now he decided to do so. He got the doorman, Flynn.
“Yes, sir; Miss Odell come in half an hour ago.”
“Is the company working?” inquired Annan nervously.
“No, sir, nobody’s here to-day except Miss Odell and Mr. Smull——”