“I thought he might have said something.” I switched back to tonight’s doings: “What visitors did Willsson have today, not counting the one he shot?”

“You’ll have to pardon me,” the secretary said, smiling apologetically, “I can’t tell you that without Mr. Willsson’s permission. I’m sorry.”

“Weren’t some of the local powers here? Say Lew Yard, or⁠—”

The secretary shook his head, repeating:

“I’m sorry.”

“We won’t fight over it,” I said, giving it up and starting back toward the bedroom door.

The doctor came out, buttoning his overcoat.

“He will sleep now,” he said hurriedly. “Someone should stay with him. I shall be in in the morning.” He ran downstairs.