Henderson, Inc.
Van Ness at Potter Groya Motors
A westbound street car bore down on the corner. Thompson gave over
reflecting upon this latest turn of affairs, gathered up his things,
boarded the car, and was set off a few minutes later near the Globe
Rooms.
At precisely 8 p.m. he arrived at the address Sophie had given
him and found it to be an apartment house covering half a block, an
enormous structure clinging upon the slope which dips from Nob Hill down
to the heart of the city. An elevator shot him silently aloft to the
fifth floor. As silently the elevator man indicated the location of
Apartment 509. The whole place seemed pitched to that subdued note, as
if it were a sanctuary from the clash and clamor without its walls.
Thompson walked down a hushed corridor over a velvet carpet that
muffled his footfalls and so came at last to the proper door, where he
pressed a black button in the center of a brass plate. The door opened
almost upon the instant. A maid eyed him interrogatively. He mentioned
his name.
"Oh yes," the maid answered. "This way, please."
She relieved him of his hat and led him down a short, dusky hall into a
bright-windowed room, in which, from the depths of two capacious leather
chairs, Sophie and her father rose to greet him.
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