The Window at the White Cat | Page 7

to the house.
It was a relief, consequently, when I reached its corner, to find no lights
in the building. The girl had kept her word. Assured of that, I looked at
the house curiously. It was one of the largest in the city, not wide, but
running far back along the side street; a small yard with a low iron
fence and a garage, completed the property. The street lights left the
back of the house in shadow, and as I stopped in the shelter of the
garage, I was positive that I heard some one working with a rear
window of the empty house. A moment later the sounds ceased and
muffled footsteps came down the cement walk. The intruder made no

attempt to open the iron gate; against the light I saw him put a leg over
the low fence, follow it up with the other, and start up the street, still
with peculiar noiselessness of stride. He was a short, heavy-shouldered
fellow in a cap, and his silhouette showed a prodigious length of arm.
I followed, I don't mind saying in some excitement. I had a vision of
grabbing him from behind and leading him--or pushing him, under the
circumstances, in triumph to the police station, and another mental
picture, not so pleasant, of being found on the pavement by some
passer-by, with a small punctuation mark ending my sentence of life.
But I was not apprehensive. I even remember wondering humorously if
I should overtake him and press the cold end of my silver mounted
fountain pen into the nape of his neck, if he would throw up his hands
and surrender. I had read somewhere of a burglar held up in a similar
way with a shoe-horn.
Our pace was easy. Once the man just ahead stopped and lighted a
cigarette, and the odor of a very fair Turkish tobacco came back to me.
He glanced back over his shoulder at me and went on without
quickening his pace. We met no policemen, and after perhaps five
minutes walking, when the strain was growing tense, my gentleman of
the rubber-soled shoes swung abruptly to the left, and--entered the
police station!
I had occasion to see Davidson many times after that, during the
strange development of the Fleming case; I had the peculiar experience
later of having him follow me as I had trailed him that night, and I had
occasion once to test the strength of his long arms when he helped to
thrust me through the transom at the White Cat, but I never met him
without a recurrence of the sheepish feeling with which I watched him
swagger up to the night sergeant and fall into easy conversation with
the man behind the desk. Standing in the glare from the open window, I
had much the lost pride and self contempt of a wet cat sitting in the sun.
Two or three roundsmen were sitting against the wall, lazily, helmets
off and coats open against the warmth of the early spring night. In a
back room others were playing checkers and disputing noisily.
Davidson's voice came distinctly through the open windows.

"The house is closed," he reported. "But one of the basement windows
isn't shuttered and the lock is bad. I couldn't find Shields. He'd better
keep an eye on it." He stopped and fished in his pockets with a grin.
"This was tied to the knob of the kitchen door," he said, raising his
voice for the benefit of the room, and holding aloft a piece of paper.
"For Shields!" he explained, "and signed 'Delia.'"
The men gathered around him, even the sergeant got up and leaned
forward, his elbows on his desk.
"Read it," he said lazily. "Shields has got a wife, and her name ain't
Delia."
"Dear Tim," Davidson read, in a mincing falsetto, "We are closing up
unexpected, so I won't be here tonight. I am going to Mamie Brennan's
and if you want to talk to me you can get me by calling up Anderson's
drug-store. The clerk is a gentleman friend of mine. Mr. Carter, the
butler, told me before he left he would get me a place as parlor maid, so
I'll have another situation soon. Delia."
The sergeant scowled. "I'm goin' to talk to Tom," he said, reaching out
for the note. "He's got a nice family, and things like that're bad for the
force."
I lighted the cigar, which had been my excuse for loitering on the
pavement, and went on. It sounded involved for a novice, but if I could
find Anderson's drug-store I could find Mamie Brennan; through
Mamie Brennan I would get Delia; and through Delia I might find
Carter. I was vague from that point, but what Miss Fleming had said