into the kitchen. Still, if he were honestly hungry She had it!
In the kitchen-table drawer was an imitation revolver—press the trigger, and a fluted fan was revealed—a dance favour she had received during the winter.
She plucked it out of the drawer and walked bravely to the window, which she threw up.
"What do you want? What are you doing out there on the fire escape?" she instantly demanded to know.
"My word, I am hungry! I was looking out of the window across the way and saw you preparing your dinner. A bit of bread and a glass of milk. Would you mind, I wonder?"
"Why didn't you come to the door then? What window?" Kitty was resolute; once she embarked upon an enterprise.
"That one."
"Where is Mr. Gregory?" Kitty recalled that odd letter.
"Gregory? I should very much like to know. I have come many miles to see him. He sent me a duplicate key. There was not even a crust in the cupboard."
Gregory away? That letter! Something had happened to that poor, kindly old man. "Why did you not seek some restaurant? Or have you no money?"
