“Ain’t that so.”
Miss Howard finished tying her laces, rubbed out her cigarette, and scattered the tobacco in the butt on the wind. Then rolled the remaining paper into a tight little ball and flicked it away. “Now, then-Dr. Kreizler’s not here, is he, Stevie?”
“Not a chance,” I answered. “Down at the Institute. Gotta be out by tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, I know.” Miss Howard bent her head in heartfelt sympathy and sorrow. “He must be crushed,” she added quietly.
“That and more. Almost as bad as-well, you know.”
“Yes…” The green eyes turned toward the park with a faraway look in them, and then she shook herself hard. “Well, with the Doctor away, you and Cyrus will be free to give me a hand. If you’re willing.”
“Where we going?”
“Mr. Moore’s apartments,” she said, doing her hair back into its usual bun. “He’s not answering his doorbell. Or his telephone.”
“Probably not home, then. You know Mr. Moore-you should get over to the Tenderloin, check the gaming houses. His grandmother’s only been dead six months, he can’t have lost all his inheritance yet.”
Miss Howard shook her head. “The man at the door to his building says that John came in over an hour ago. With a young lady. They haven’t left again.” A small, mischievous smile came into her face. “He’s home, all right, he just doesn’t want any interruptions. You, however, are going to get us in.”