Peggy fumbled at her envelope and drew out the photograph. “I’m trying to locate somebody,” she said. “I understand that he lives in this neighborhood, and I wonder if you know him?” She held out the picture for inspection.
The door opened a little wider as the woman leaned down to examine the photograph. The pin curls gave a decisive shake.
“Naw. Never saw him.”
The next instant the door was slammed shut and Peggy found herself alone on the porch. She made her way carefully back down the steps and out to the sidewalk. Finding Tom Agate was going to be much harder than she had anticipated.
There was no answer at the next house. In the one following lived a woman who spoke no English. The trail became warmer at the third house where a woman said she thought the face looked familiar, but couldn’t place it. The next five houses were blanks.
By now it was well after four o’clock in the afternoon. Peggy knew she had time for only two or three more calls before taking the train back to New York. Peter Grey had arranged to meet her at the Broadway Drugstore on Forty-eighth Street at eight-thirty, giving her barely enough time to get back to the city, bolt down some supper, and keep her appointment. But the next three houses could give her no fresh information and Peggy decided that she had had enough for one day. She would return in the morning and finish the rest of the houses on the block.
As she turned to retrace her footsteps to the bus stop on the corner, her eye was caught by a bright flash of color. Four doors down from where she stood was a house decorated with two window boxes full of fall flowers. Peggy wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. The house itself was weatherworn, and like all the other houses on the block, in need of a fresh coat of paint. But somehow it gave the impression of a home that had been carefully tended. The porch was neat, the lawn had been recently raked of leaves, and someone had even tried to trim the hedges. Standing in the midst of such careless neglect, the house seemed to sparkle with life and friendly invitation.
Before she realized it, Peggy was standing at the front door, listening to a set of chimes peal softly at her touch. The door was opened by a pleasant-looking woman who was drying her hands on a towel. When she saw Peggy, her face broke into a smile of welcome.
“Come in,” she said. “You caught me washing some things in the kitchen.”
Peggy stepped into a clean, simply furnished front hall. “I’m sorry to interrupt you,” she said. “But I’m trying to locate someone, and I thought maybe you could help me.” Peggy displayed her photograph again and waited for the reaction. But this time, instead of a blank stare and a quick shake of the head, she was met with an exclamation of surprise.