hesitated at a sheet-covered object on the bed. That would be his friend called Endicott. His lids closed sharply as a reaction to some wound that was not physical.
Lieutenant Valcour stared thoughtfully down at Hollander’s pale face.
“What did you do with Endicott’s hat?” he said.
Hollander opened his eyes again in bewilderment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “And who are you, anyhow?”
“I’m Lieutenant Valcour, Mr. Hollander. We’ve talked together over the telephone. The hat I’m referring to is the one that Endicott must have been wearing, or carrying in his hand, or that was some place near him when you attacked him shortly after seven this evening.”
“I didn’t attack him, Lieutenant.” Hollander’s lips were peaked-looking and didn’t move very much