"Probably awaiting the return of the real tenant who hasn't returned up to this hour"—with an oblique glance at the squat man.
"Kind o' queer. Say, you stay here and watch the lady while I scout round."
The squat man nodded and leaned over the foot of the bed. The policeman stalked out.
"I was in the kitchen," said Kitty, confidingly. "I saw shadows on the window curtain. It did not look right. So I started to inquire and almost bumped into two men leaving the apartment. They took to their heels when they saw me."
Again the squat man nodded. He appeared to be a good listener.
"Where were you when we crossed the fire escape?"
"In the yard on the other side of the fence." There was reluctance in the guttural voice.
"Oh, I see. You live there."
As this was a supposition and not a direct query, the squat man wagged his head affirmatively.
Kitty, her ears strained for disquieting sounds in the kitchen, laid her palm on the patient's cheek. It was very hot. She dipped a bit of cotton into the water, which had grown cold, and dampened the wounded man's cheeks and throat. Not that she expected to accomplish anything by this act; it relieved the nerve tension. This man was no fool. If her surmises were correct he was a strong man both
