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do know the address, of course. The house is on California Street.” He mentioned a number.
“There are no street signs on the lamps,” I said.
“No. But at each corner the name of the street is carved in the sidewalk. Let’s try that.”
We walked along to the nearest crossing. Neither of us had a match; but by stooping and running his fingers along the damp walk Parker came upon the name carved in the stone. I leaned over beside him, and we began to spell it out. It was in such a silly posture that Riley the policeman found us as his big bulk emerged from the fog.
“What the hell?” said Riley, not without reason.
“It’s Riley!” I cried. “Good enough!”
“Who are you?” he wanted to know.
“A friend of Mr. Drew,” I told him. “I was there a while ago when you called to see if everything was O. K.”
