There was a Mr. Tompkins in the front
hall bedroom two flights up. Perhaps it was he I was seeking. He worked
of nights; he never came in till seven in the morning. Or if it was
really Mr. Tucker (thinly disguised as Paley) that I was hunting I would
have to call between five and--
But no; I held firmly to Paley. There was no such name among her
lodgers. Click! the door closed swiftly in my face; and I heard through
the panels the clanking of chains and bolts.
I went down the steps and stopped to consider. The number of this house
was 43. I was sure Paley had said 43--or perhaps it was 45 or 47--I
decided to try 47, the second house farther along.
I rang the bell. The door opened; and there stood the same woman. I
wasn't confronted by just a resemblance--it was the SAME woman holding
together the same old sacque at her throat and looking at me with the
same yellow eyes as if she had never seen me before on earth. I saw
on the knuckle of her second finger the same red-and-black spot made,
probably, by a recent burn against a hot stove.
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