could not see, for it was in no one respect; his blue serge suit was perhaps too perfectly tailored; his shirt too silky; his tie too perfectly arranged; his lack was no more than a saving touch of the casual; he seemed to realize that lack and to attempt to remedy it, as he sat down.
"I hope I have not worried you by asking the privilege of this talk."
"You mean nothing more has happened yesterday, Mr. Rinderfeld?"
"Nothing in the sense that happenings are strokes of fate completely beyond human control: but of course the regular sequence of events proceeds."
He said that calmly, but it shortened her breath again after the temporary relief of first seeing him. "What is the regular sequence of events, please?"
Rinderfeld leaned slightly toward her, resting his left arm on his desk; a dictation phonograph was too near him and he pushed it slightly farther off. "The people, who knew, are talking more, of course."
"What people who knew—of what, Mr. Rinderfeld?"
"Of the situation at the apartment on Clearedge Street prior to the—accident of the other night."
"Oh; who knew of that?"
Rinderfeld smiled slightly; not an unpleasant smile and not suggesting amusement at her innocence or superiority over her. He was smiling to reassure her before she heard his next words.
"The other night, when I talked with you, I did not know how many might happen to be informed; possibly they might be very few, so I did not discuss the matter with you. Since then I have found that the usual number of neighbors and others seem to have
