He started to put his suitcase on the bed, set it down on the floor instead. “It’s just fine, Mrs. Lambert,” he said. “Really.”

“I’ll have Mabel put you in a radio tomorrow when that couple moves out of twenty-one.”

“Thank you. I’ll take care of the room myself, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I don’t see anything wrong about that, I guess. But what about your towels and sheets?”

“When I need new ones, I’ll come downstairs and let you know.”

“Mr. Cramer—” The woman looked at him closely. “I hope there ain’t going to be any trouble or anything like that.”

“Trouble?” He smiled. “Absolutely not. I just want some privacy, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t think Mabel’s gonna cry about it. You’ll be her favorite­ guest!”

He took the old woman’s hand in his and smiled. “I really do appreciate it, Mrs. Lambert,” he said. “And if you’re up tonight, maybe we can watch the mystery together.”

“I’ll be up. It’s too blame hot to sleep, anyway.”

“Fine.”

The woman nodded, checked the room with her eyes, and went out.

He waited for the sound of the footsteps to disappear, then he turned the key in the lock, went to the window and pulled down the shades.

The heat was stifling; not really moist, yet it permeated the room, drawing moisture from every pore of his body. He whipped his coat off, widened the loop of the military-stripe tie and lifted it over his head; tore loose his sodden blue shirt and hurled it onto the bed; scattered his clothes as if they were contaminated.

The water pipes bucked loudly when he turned on the cold faucet, and for a while an orange fluid seeped out of the crusted metal; then the water flowed in a limp stream. He opened the cardboard suitcase and got out an electric shaver. He looked in the bathroom for a socket, but there was none; so he unplugged one of the lamps and connected the razor there.

Bathing quickly, he returned to the bedroom and put on the one wrinkled but clean shirt that remained. He shook the charcoal flannel trousers and put them on, too.

He surveyed himself in the mirror. The image thrown back was that of a fairly handsome, masculine young man, the sort you would be likely to encounter in some minor New England college. The hair, dark brown, almost black, was straight. The nose was somewhat bent, though not noticeably, and the lips were rather thick.

He added a last touch to his hair, smiled at his reflection, and began to unpack his suitcase.