“Oh, he has nothing to do with them.”

“Go ahead. Tell me about it. Who was it?”

“A b-b-burglar.”

“Where?”

“Someone who broke into the apartment.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“You two girls were there alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where was Sandra?”

“She slept in the other bedroom.”

“And you were sleeping in the room with the twin beds?”

“Yes.”

“Sandra was sleeping in the room where Bleatie is now?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “—Oh, I shouldn’t tell you about it. I promised Sandra I wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”

“Why all the secrecy?”

“Because she’s having enough trouble with the police. They’re trying to locate Morgan, and they’ve been coming in at all hours of the day and night and asking all sorts of questions. It’s been very embarrassing.”

“So I imagine, but that’s no reason why you should be choked to death.”

“I fought him off.”

“How did it happen?”

“It was a hot night,” she said. “I was sleeping without very much on. I woke up and a man was leaning over the bed. I moved and started to scream. He grabbed me by the throat and I began to kick. I kicked him in the stomach with my heels and got my knees up against his shoulders and pushed with all of my might. If I’d slept just a second longer, and he’d got closer to me, he’d have choked me; but when I got my knees up and pushed, I finally broke his hold.”

“And then what happened?”

“And then he ran.”

“Where?”

“Out into the other room.”

“And then what?”

“Then I called Sandra. We turned on the lights, and looked through the apartment. Nothing was disturbed.”

“Did you find how he got in?”

“It must have been by the fire escape because the door was locked.”

“Was he dressed?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him. It was dark.”

“But you could feel, couldn’t you?”

“Well, yes, in a way.”

“And you never did see him? You wouldn’t recognize him if you saw him again?”

“No, it was dark as pitch.”

“Look here, Alma,” I said. “You’re nervous. There’s more to this than you’re telling me. Why don’t you give me a chance to help you?”

“No,” she said, “I can’t—I mean, there isn’t—I’ve told you everything.”

I sat back and smoked a cigarette in silence. After a minute, she said, “You’re really truly a detective, aren’t you? I mean legally?”

“Yes.”

“And you have a right to carry a gun?”

“I suppose so.”

“Could you—could you get a gun if I gave you the money, and let me carry it for a while?”

“Why?”

“Protection.”

“Why the gun?”