Something about this offer of a favor got her back up. “What if I decide to keep the shop open?”

“Of course you won’t decide that,” he said, his certainty now reaching the insufferable stage. “You can’t, since the lease ended when your sister died.”

“You’re wrong. I have the option of continuing the operation of Crewel World.”

It was wonderful to see his color change, to watch his eyes widen, then narrow, to see the way the nostrils in that beak of a nose widened. “What idiot told you that?”

“Mr. Penberthy told me that Margot incorporated herself and ‘assigned’ the lease to the corporation. I was made vice-president of the corporation, and I can keep Crewel World open if I want to.”

If she wanted proof that Mickels had not been told about the incorporation, she got it. He jumped to his feet and flung his hands over his head. His raincoat spread itself wide, making him appear enormous in the low-ceilinged room. “That’s not true!” he shouted. “I don’t believe Penberthy told you that! This building is mine, this property is mine, and the lease died with your sister! You’re out, d‘you hear? Out! I’ll get an eviction notice on you. You’ll be out of that shop in thirty days, and this building will be gone before the ground freezes! I’ve waited too long for this, and I won’t have you start in on me like Margot did!”

Betsy was on her feet now, too. Some little alarm was ringing, but she was beyond hearing it, and was about to make the big accusation when the alarm became a real sound, the sound of the doorbell pealing. It rang in one long noise that continued until she ran to push the door release.

She opened the apartment door to look out and see who had such an urgent need to see her.

In just seconds Irene Potter’s excited face appeared in the stairwell, and when she saw Betsy waiting, she raised a thin arm to shake a wet umbrella at her. “I’m so glad to find you at home, Betsy!” she said, rushing up the stairs. “I have something exciting to tell you; I just could not wait!”

Betsy had to step aside or be sluiced down by Irene’s wet raincoat as she brushed by.

Irene trotted into the living room, shedding water all the way and exclaiming about the weather and her breathless state. “I hurried over because I was afraid someone else might be talking to you, and I wanted to be the first if I could—” She stopped in mid-sentence to stare. “Why, Mr. Mickels, what are you doing here?”

“This is my building, I can come here if I like,” he growled.

“Do you mean to tell me that you often call on your tenants?” Irene demanded, her tone suggesting she had a personal interest in his answer.