"Okay. But one final instruction--and I don't mean not to open the door
except for your husband; you know that. It's this: if you hear anyone
trying to get in either door or at a window, if you even _think_ you
hear anything suspicious, don't waste time phoning the police--you
could be dead by the time they get here. Just open a front window, lean
out and start screaming bloody murder at the top of your lungs, loud
enough to carry six blocks away. He wouldn't follow through on trying
to get in while you're doing that. Okay, good night--and let me hear
that bolt slide."
"Good night, George."
She closed the door and slid the bolt, stood there a moment listening
to his footsteps going down the stairs and thinking how wonderful
he'd been to her and how concerned he'd been about her. And how brave
to have come up here alone when he'd really thought that a dangerous
criminal, a murderer, might be waiting.
When she turned she saw by the clock that it still lacked six minutes
of midnight. Because of the lift, she was home earlier than usual
despite all the talking they'd done and the time George had taken to
search the flat.
She went into the bathroom and started drawing water in the tub. She
was tired, if not sleepy, and a hot bath would be just the thing to
relax her body and her nerves.