He shook his head. She said, "We said we would pay you one hundred dollars."
"Forget it. We had too many clients anyway. I'll keep the dollar, and I'll also keep the keys, if you don't mind, as a souvenir. You'd better have a new lock put on the door." I left the chair and stepped to the table to get a parcel wrapped in brown paper. "This is the only thing I took from the room, a woman's umbrella. I'll return it to its owner." I shook hands, with her and then with him, and blew.
I didn't go to Eden Street. I had no overwhelming desire to see the Houghs again, or Meg Duncan offstage. On Monday I sent the umbrella and the cigarette case by messenger.
I should add a note, in case anyone reading this report takes a notion to go and take a look at the bower. You won't find it on 82nd Street. Nor will you find any of the people where I have put them. The particulars of the performance were exactly as I have reported them, but for obvious reasons I have changed names and addresses and a few other details - for instance, the title of the play Meg Duncan was starring in. It's still on and she's as good as ever; I went one night last week just to see.
If Cramer reads this and drops in to inquire, I'll tell him I made it up, including this note.