mind the thought that his master had been lured out of the house. That being so, he might need him rather badly.
With a muttered curse on all men who were thick headed enough to get mixed up with female women, Eddie climbed out of the car and entered the vestibule.
He rang the Pomeroy bell and waited for the answering tick. There was none, though he gave the occupants of the Pomeroy flat plenty of time to get out of bed and open the door. He rang again, loudly and insistently this time, but still he got no answer. He rang again, and shook impatiently at the door. It opened, though there was no tick of the electric push button. Like many flat house doors, it was open more often than it was shut.
He peered into the silent gloom of the hall, but could see nothing. On a last chance he rang the bell again, keeping the door open with his foot. There was no answer, and on a sudden determination he entered the dark hall and made his way upstairs to the Pomeroy flat.
Here he rang the bell loudly and heard it reverberating inside, but there was no answer and he became convinced that nobody was home. He tried the door, and to his surprise it opened. The lock was not of the spring type, and evidently whoever had charge of such matters had forgotten to turn the key.
“H-m-m, must’ve been in an awful rush to get out,” muttered Eddie, straining his eyes to see into the apartment. He could see nothing, and resolving to press his luck he entered. He struck a match and lighted the gas in the hall, and from there went into the living room, where he also struck a light.
