Рекс Стаут - How Like a God

He stooped and picked up the revolver from the floor and stood there an instant with it in his hand, then suddenly darted for the door; and as he opened it, he heard Mrs. Jordan’s clumsy steps starting rapidly up the stairs, and her voice: “Mr. Lewis, was that you? What is it?” He stepped back and stood there two paces from the open door, the revolver still in his hand, unable to speak or move; he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Jordan’s face in the dim stairway, heard her scream, and heard her clattering downstairs again and yelling, “Police! Help, police!”

He slowly lifted his hand and looked at the revolver — inquiringly, as if it could tell him something he wanted to know; then with a violent convulsive shudder he relaxed his fingers and it fell. He rushed to the hall, to the head of the stairs, but hearing voices below returned to the room; and, not looking at what lay beside the statue on the floor, went to the window and raised it and leaned out. He heard shouts and, in the dim light from the street lamps, saw forms of people moving swiftly. He closed the window and deliberately and precisely pulled down the shade; then he turned and walked rapidly to the little table in the corner where the telephone stood, and lifted the instrument and took off the receiver and put it to his ear.

The sound of voices, and of heavy and hurried footsteps on the stairs, came through the open door as he said into the mouthpiece:

“Chelsea four three four three.”