“Why not, Lieutenant? She isn’t—that is—”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Hollander?”
“Damn it, is she arrested?”
“Certainly not. What for?”
“Well, what in hell are you cops in the house for if”—the voice ended less belligerently—“there hasn’t been some crime?”
Lieutenant Valcour remained splendidly detached.
“We shan’t be certain that there either has or hasn’t been a crime, as you infer, until Mr. Endicott recovers consciousness and lets us know.”
“He’s unconscious?”
“Yes.”
“Is his condition serious, Lieutenant?”
“Most serious, Mr. Hollander.”
“And Mrs. Endicott—why is it she can’t be with Herb?”
“ Dr. Worth has given her a narcotic. She’s sleeping. Her nerves are unstrung.”
This evidently took a minute to digest.
“From what, Lieutenant?”
“From her husband’s condition.”
“Did Mrs. Endicott suggest that you call me up, Lieutenant?”