“When he does, I’ll let him know that you did him the favor. What was your name again, miss?”

“I didn’t say,” I said, “But it’s Kathleen. Kathleen McCarthy. He probably won’t remember me.”

Then off I went toward Delancey Street. I hadn’t had the nerve to ask him the number and Delancey is a long street, so I had to stop and grab a bite to eat and drink at a Jewish delicatessen to fortify myself before I finally met people who had heard of Ma Becker’s and I trudged up the steps to her front door. Machinery was clattering away loudly from a workshop in the basement and I wondered how theatrical folk could stand such a noise, seeing that they liked to sleep late in the morning. But perhaps beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Ma Becker was the archetypal landlady—hatchet-faced and clearly allowing no hanky-panky within her walls. Keen on money too, as I saw her eyes light up when I asked about vacant rooms.

“Your friend, what does she do in the business?” she asked.

“She’s a dancer.”

“Chorus girl?”

“Acrobatic dancer,” I said, feeling stupid that I was allowing this farce to continue.

“Solo act then.” She was positively beaming at me now. “I’ll take you up and show you the room. When will she be in town?”

“In a couple of weeks, I hope,” I said.

Along the dreary, dark-brown hall and up the dark-brown worn linoleum of the stairs we went. The room was truly dreadful—dark, looking onto the tenement behind, and smelling of bad drains. “It will do just fine,” I lied. “I’ll write and tell her.”

As we came down the stairs I turned and said breezily, “So which room did Mr. Scarpelli have here? He always spoke so fondly of you.”

“Did he now? Well, I’m not about to speak fondly of him. Up and leaving me without paying the rent.”

“So he never came back here after the tragedy?”

“I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him since,” she said. “I kept expecting him to get in touch because he’s left all his stuff, but I haven’t heard from him. Typical of these men. Never think of anybody except themselves. So now I don’t even know if I am supposed to re-let the room or if he wants it kept on.”

“Could I see it?” I asked. “Just in case he doesn’t want to keep it. I may be needing a room myself as well.”

“I don’t think I should be showing Alfred’s room,” she said. “It’s not right, is it?”

“But if he owes you money then you’ve no obligation to keep it for him, have you? Why, he might be away for months. He might never come back. And I can pay.”