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But still she tried to help him; she was that kind. "It's ghastly, but the only thing to do is to go to them and———"
     
    "But you don't understand. There was a second one. A policeman, in a candy-store. He came in and — I did that one purposely."
     
    She took a step back. Then another one. The peach cloak dropped in a puddle. Her voice was thin and still, he could hardly hear her.
     
    "What is it? What's acting on you? What's the matter with your eyes? It's not drink, I can tell that———"
     
    "Marihuana."
     
    She looked down at the floor. Something made her shiver. He could see her doing it quite plainly. Something made her feel cold.
     
    A spark kindled in the room. A spark of suspicion in his mind. Once lit, there was no way of reaching it to put it out again. Everything she did from now on simply fanned it brighter.
     
    "Who was that man, in the car down at the door?"
     
    "A friend."
     
    "Is he coming back? Is he coming up here?"
     
    "No, no." Her voice was shaking now beyond control. Only her demeanor was still steady, her facial expression. She was so used to peace and safety, it hadn't cracked yet. "Don't you want to lie down on the bed, King? It might help you — get over it, wear it off———"
     
    He glanced over at it longingly, as if worn out; almost seemed to incline the upper part of his body toward it. Then he checked himself, drew back. The spark glowed bright, and he darted her a suspicious sidelong glance.
     
    She drew slowly back across the room, without turning her back on him; the way a person does who is already in mortal terror, but trying not to give offense.
     
    Presently he pointed to the bath door. "Can I go in there a minute?"
     
    "Yes, surely."
     
    He closed the mirrored door after him. Instantly it flashed open again. "What were you reaching for? I saw your hand go out."
     
    Horror showed in her eyes, but she overcame it. "I was only reaching down for a cigarette. Here they are. See them?"
     
    "But you're standing nearer the outside door than you were a minute ago." He came out into the room, stayed out, on guard.
     
    The cords at the side of her neck were pulled taut. She tried to smile waveringly at him, re-establish a normal atmosphere. "Here, I'll sit all the way over here; I promise you I won't move------"
     
    He sat back in his original chair, nearer the door. He never took his eyes off her for a single instant. She faced him, eyes steady by sheer will power alone in a face calcium-white with tension, while the minutes seemed to explode around them like popcorn. Once she broke, heeled hands to her eyes as if overcome. "Don't! You're torturing me. My nerves are tearing. That devilish drug———"
     
    He slitted his eyes at her. "You're scared of me," he said accusingly. "That must be because you———"
     
    "Only because you're making me so. You're acting so unpredictable." She was twining and untwining her fingers desperately. "Lie down for only a minute, give me a chance to pull myself together. I've just experienced a shock, I need time to adjust myself. Then, in five minutes from now, we'll be more used to each other, not so jump———"
     
    "In five minutes you could be all the way down in the lobby———" He stopped short, blinked puzzledly. "What were we talking about just then?"
     
    She clawed at her lips, forced back a scream. She quickly recovered, smiled at him again with dearly-bought composure. "For my own sake and yours, let me try to clear it out of your mind. What's good for it? Please lie down. I'll sit beside you; you'll hold my hand if you want; you'll tie my wrist to yours———"
     
    She seemed on the point of winning him over. He looked yearningly toward the bed. She could sense that he was about to give in, relax this deathwatch, if only for a moment. And once his eyes dropped close———
     
    The telephone shrilled out janglingly in the coffin-silent room. She gave a spasmodic start, that was almost a leap in air.