But it afforded
us a momentary glimpse only, for, having caught the sergeant's upturned
eye, it retired with surprising precipitancy, and before we had time to
speculate on the apparition, the street-door was opened and a man
emerged. He was about to close the door after him when the inspector
interposed.
"Does Mr. Adolf Schoenberg live here?"
The new-comer, a very typical Jew of the red-haired type, surveyed us
thoughtfully through his gold-rimmed spectacles as he repeated the name.
"Schoenberg--Schoenberg? Ah, yes! I know. He lives on the third-floor. I
saw him go up a short time ago. Third-floor back;" and indicating the
open door with a wave of the hand, he raised his hat and passed into the
street.
"I suppose we had better go up," said the inspector, with a dubious
glance at the row of bell-pulls. He accordingly started up the stairs,
and we all followed in his wake.
There were two doors at the back on the third-floor, but as the one was
open, displaying an unoccupied bedroom, the inspector rapped smartly on
the other. It flew open almost immediately, and a fierce-looking little
man confronted us with a hostile stare.
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