“You really have got to teach me that,” she murmured, patting my back silently and pushing the door farther open. “Now, then-here we go.”

Mr. Moore had decorated his apartments with as much of his grandmother’s furniture as his family would let him get away with, as well as with some fine English country pieces what Dr. Kreizler had helped him select. So the place had a kind of split character about it, feeling in some spots like an old lady’s house and in others like a rugged bachelor flat. There were some seven rooms in all, arranged in a kind of crazy order that wouldn’t have made much sense in a regular house. In a stealthy little file we made our way down the darkened main hall, being careful to stay on the runner carpet all the while, and as we did we began to come across various articles of men’s and women’s clothing. Miss Howard frowned when she saw all this, and her frown only got deeper when, as we got close to the bedroom door, we began to hear giggling and laughter coming from inside. Drawing up in front of the door, Miss Howard balled one hand into a fist and made ready to give it a good rap-but then the door suddenly opened, and out popped a woman.

And this was, I can say now with even more appreciation than I could then, a woman. With long golden hair that hung down to her waist and robed in only a coverlet that she clasped with one hand at her side, she had a set of stems on her what started in a pair of slender ankles and didn’t seem to end till somewhere up around the ceiling-and the ceilings in that building were high, mind you. She was still giggling as she came out, and we could hear Mr. Moore inside the room, pleading with her to come back.

“I will, John, I will,” the woman said melodiously through rich red lips. “But you must give me a moment.” She closed the door again, turned toward the bathroom what was situated down at the end of the hall-and then caught sight of us.