"Well, Mrs. Pitman," he said, "has our friend come back yet?"
"She was no friend of mine."
"Not _she_. Ladley. He'll be out this evening, and he'll probably be
around for his clothes."
I felt my knees waver, as they always did when he was spoken of.
"He may want to stay here," said Mr. Graves. "In fact, I think that's
just what he _will_ want."
"Not here," I protested. "The very thought of him makes me quake."
"If he comes here, better take him in. I want to know where he is."
I tried to say that I wouldn't have him, but the old habit of the ward
asserted itself. From taking a bottle of beer or a slice of pie,
to telling one where one might or might not live, the police were
autocrats in that neighborhood. And, respectable woman that I am, my
neighbors' fears of the front office have infected me.
"All right, Mr. Graves," I said.
He pushed the parlor door open and looked in, whistling. "This is the
place, isn't it?"
"Yes. But it was up-stairs that he--"
"I see. Tall woman, Mrs. Ladley?"
"Tall and blond.
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