A little before eleven a taxi-cab suddenly turned out of Greenwich Avenue and halted before the house in which Eris dwelt.
Smull was prowling some distance to the westward on the opposite side of the street; and the sudden appearance of the cab caught him unprepared.
He started back instantly; but even before he arrived opposite the house she had entered it, carrying her suitcase.
Her taxi-cab, however, remained waiting.
Smull gazed up at her windows. Suddenly a light broke out behind the lowered shades.
He looked across at the waiting taxi. He was going to have another chance.
When the light went out behind the yellow shades it would be time enough to cross the street. He thought so. Meanwhile, he would wait. He’d take his time. What’s time to a gentleman?
Eris had lighted the apartment, had taken one swiftly comprehensive glance at the dusty solitude about her, then she hurried to the telephone and gave Annan’s number. And heard his voice, presently:
“Who is it?”