With that incentive she walked out to stand on the porch. Fred went away from there with a rush. She came back and said, “I’m not certain. The number was either 5N1525 or 5M1525.”

I fumbled around until I found a pencil, wrote both numbers down on a piece of paper, and hobbled up the three flights of stairs. She stood looking after me and said, “Don’t forget it, Mr. Lam, I can use that room-rent just as soon as you get it.”

“I won’t,” I told her. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

A STEADY, insistent pounding on my door dragged me from oblivion into stupefied semi-consciousness. I heard the voice of my landlady saying, “Mr. Lam—oh, Mr. Lam—Mr. Lam. Get up.”

I reached out for the light. My body felt as though it would break in two. I found the light, switched it on, and limped to the door of the little attic bedroom.

The landlady had on a faded green wrapper which made her look like sacked potatoes. The white fringe of a flannel nightgown burst out from beneath the wrapper. She said in a voice shrill with indignation, “I don’t know what this new job of yours is, but I’ve put up with just about enough! I’ve let you get weeks behind with room rent, and now—”

“What is it?” I interrupted, and when I tried to talk my swollen nose and lips made my face feel wooden.

“It’s a woman on the telephone who says she has to talk with you. She keeps screaming into my ear that it’s a matter of life and death. The phone’s been ringing and ringing and ringing. It’s woke up everyone in the house. And I’ve had to climb three flights of stairs and stand here banging on the door until—”

“I’m much obliged, Mrs. Smith,” I said.

“Obliged, eh?” she sniffed. “Great goings on to wake everyone up and—”

I forced my tortured body into action, dove back into the room, grabbed a bathrobe, flung it over my pajamas, and kicked my feet into slippers. It seemed an interminable distance down the hall. Alma was all I could think of. I hoped it was Bertha Cool with some new assignment. I knew she was quite capable of doing that very thing, but—The receiver was dangling from the cord. I grabbed it up, placed it to my ear, said, “Hello,” and heard Alma’s voice. “Oh, Donald, I’m so glad I reached you. Something awful’s happened.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone. You must come.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the telephone booth in the lobby of Sandra’s apartment house.”

“Well, where will I meet you?” I asked.

“I’ll be right there.”

“In the apartment, you mean?”

“No—in the telephone booth. Something awful’s happened. Come quickly.”

I said, “Right away,” hung up the telephone, and went up the stairs as fast as I could force my sore muscles into action. I passed Mrs. Smith wheezing down the steps. She said acidly, “There are people in the house, Mr. Lam, who are trying to get back to sleep.”