But
it was not the window shade, nor yet the courtyard without with which he
was concerned--it was the sound of a heavy footstep outside the door.
And now the door was tried. The man on the floor, working with desperate
energy to replace the base-board, coughed in an asthmatic, wheezing way,
as there came the imperative smashing of a fist upon the door panels,
coupled with a gruff, curt demand for admittance. Again the man
coughed--to drown perhaps the slight rasping sound as the base-board
slid back into place--and, rising to his feet, shuffled hastily to the
door and unlocked it.
The door was flung violently open from without, a heavy-built,
clean-shaven, sharp-featured man stepped into the room, slammed the door
shut behind him, re-locked it, and swept a shrewd, inquisitive,
suspicious glance about the place.
"It took you a damned long time to open that door, _Mister_
Smarlinghue!" he said sharply.
The man addressed touched his lips with the tip of his tongue nervously,
shrank back, and made no reply.
The lapel of the visitor's coat thrown carelessly back displayed a
police shield on the vest beneath; and now, completing a preliminary
survey of the surroundings, the man's eyes narrowed on Smarlinghue.
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