I go around to Twenty-first Street and case Forty-six, which is a pretty fair-looking building with a striped awning and a doorman who saunters out front and looks around every few minutes.
While I'm watching, a grocery boy comes along pushing his cart and goes down some stairs into the basement with his carton of groceries.
This gives me an idea.
I'll give the boy time to get started up in the elevator, and then I'll go down in the basement and hunt for Cat.
If someone comes along and gets sore, I can always play dumb.
I go down, and the coast is clear.
The elevator's gone up, and I walk softly past and through a big room where the tenants leave their baby carriages and bicycles.
After this the cellar stretches off into several corridors, lit by twenty-watt bulbs dangling from the ceiling.
You can hardly see anything.
The corridors go between wire storage cages, where the tenants keep stuff like trunks and old cribs and parakeet cages.