The Doorbell Rang (The Rex Stout Library)

In the taxi back downtown I inspected the samples, and I was already ninety-per-cent sure when I mounted the two flights at 63 Arbor Street. I went to the bedroom for the photograph, got comfortable in the good sitting chair under the lamp in the living room, and compared. I am not a handwriting expert, but it didn't need one. The person who had written the samples had written the poetry on the back of the photograph. Probably she had also taken the photograph, but that didn't matter. I formed a conclusion. I concluded that Sarah Dacos's memory had failed her when she said that it had not progressed to intimacy.

The immediate question was, should I phone Mrs Althaus for permission to take the photograph, or should I leave it? I decided that leaving it would be too risky; Sarah might get in somehow and find it and take it. I got a sheet of typewriter paper from the desk and folded it, and inserted the photograph. It was almost too wide for my breast pocket, but I eased it in. I looked around a little, from habit, to be sure things were as I had found them, and left with my loot. As I passed the door of Sarah Dacos's apartment on the way down I threw it a kiss. Then it occurred to me that it rated more than a kiss, and I went and took a look at the lock. It was the same make as the one on Althaus's door, a Bermatt, nothing special.

At the same booth where I had phoned Mrs Bruner I rang Mrs Althaus's number, got her, told her I had left everything in order in the apartment, and asked if she wanted the keys returned immediately. She said at my convenience, no hurry.

"By the way," I said, "I'm taking one item, if you don't mind-a photograph of a man that was in a drawer. I want to see if someone recognizes it. All right?"

She said I was very mysterious, but yes, I could take it. I would have liked to tell her what I thought of middle-aged women but decided we weren't intimate enough. I dialed another number, told the woman who answered, whose name was Mimi, that I would like to speak to Miss Rowan, and in a moment the familiar voice came.

"Lunch in ten minutes. Come and get it."

"You're too young for me. I've decided women under fifty are-what are they?"

"Well, jejune's a good word."

"Too many Js. I'll think of one and tell you this evening. Two things. One, I have to be home at midnight. I'm sleeping in the office and- I'll explain when I see you."

"Good Lord, has he rented your room?"