I saw the struggle between money and a loyalty to Scarpelli going on in her head until she finally said, “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in showing it to you, just in case he won’t be needing it again. It’s this one here.” She opened a door on the first floor. This room was much nicer altogether—it had a big bay window that overlooked the street, a gaily patterned carpet, and an impressive wardrobe.

“This is lovely,” I said.

“Well, Scarpelli, he’s one of my best returning customers,” she said. “Or at least, he was. Who knows now?”

“Nobody seems to know where he is even,” I said.

“That’s right. Disappeared into the blue, hasn’t he?” she said. I thought I detected a twitch of smile as she said this and it occurred to me that perhaps she did know. In which case had she written to him, asking for the money she owed him? And why was she smiling?

I was looking around the room as she talked. She went across to the window and opened it, letting in the fresh air. “Stuffy in here,” she said.

The clatter of machinery rose up from the basement, a deep, rhythmic thump. I was dying to open that wardrobe and the drawers in the dresser, but I couldn’t think of a reason to do so. Besides, at least now I knew he lived in Boston and I could pass that information along to the police, if they didn’t already have it. If they still wanted it.

“His agent thinks he might have gone home to Boston,” I said.

“Boston? Fancy that. The scoundrel,” she said, and again it came out a little as if she were delivering lines onstage.

“So why don’t you pack up his stuff and then you could re-let the room until he comes back? I’m sure my friend would rather have this room than the one upstairs.”

“The police were round here several times and they told me not to touch anything,” she said. “But if he’s gone to Boston—well, that’s a different matter, isn’t it?” Again I could see the struggle between doing what the police had told her and recouping her losses. “They can’t expect me to keep this room untouched forever, can they?” She said, as if thinking out loud, “I mean, what if he never comes back. I expect—” She broke off as she heard her name being called.

“Ma—where are you? There’s a man at the front door for you!” a male voice was shouting.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she called back, and left the room.