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caught her by the elbows, literally swung her in an arc, and dropped her into the chair. I swept the hair back from her face. I dropped the scarf around her shoulders. I slipped the shoes on her feet and thrust the glass into her hand.
    I made a leap for the door.
    It was locked. She had turned the latch.
    I turned it again, turning the knob noisily at the same time.
    As I did so, I felt it turn from the other side; and Dr. Luther walked in.

9
    O h,” I said. “I was going to call you, Doc. Mrs. Luther thought you might have time for a drink with us.”
    He shook his head curtly, and looked at her. He looked her over very carefully. “Are you through with that drink yet?”
    “It doesn’t look like it, does it?”
    “Drink it up, then. Or take it with you.”
    She stared at him, smiling in a funny way, swinging one long perfect leg.
    “Lila,” he said, a note of apology in his voice. “Don’t you think…?”
    “I’ll tell you what I think,” she said, arising. “I think you’d better take it.” And she hurled the contents of the glass squarely into his face.
    I wanted to slap her. I hoped, no matter what happened to me, that Doc would. Instead, he merely stood there helplessly, the whiskey dripping down from his glasses, running in little rivulets toward his mouth and chin.
    Mrs. Luther laughed shortly. She turned and gave me a bright, vacant smile.
    “Sorry about the carpet, Pat,” she said; and she strolled out of the room, closing the door behind her.
    “Doc,” I said. “Doc…”
    He turned and looked at me, slowly, his glasses misted over by the whiskey. He made a pawing motion at them with one hand.
    “Doc,” I said again, helplessly, and he took a hesitating step toward me.
    He took another step and I moved out of the way. He went past me and into the bathroom, and I heard water being turned on. I went over to the bar and poured myself a stiff drink, straight. I was tilting the bottle for the second time when the bathroom door opened.
    “Make that two, will you, Pat?” said Doc, casually.
    “Certainly,” I said, and I poured another one, trying to keep the bottle from rattling against the glass.
    He’d washed and tidied himself up, and he looked pretty much the same as he always had. The terrific inner strain was apparent only in the tight line of his mouth, the unconsciously self-conscious way in which he kept his lips drawn over the protruding teeth.
    He sat down in one of the upholstered chairs. I handed him a glass and sat down across from him.
    “Well,” he smiled at me almost timidly, “here’s how, Pat.”
    “How,” I said. And then I banged the glass down, slopping whiskey onto the coffee table.
    “Dammit to hell, Doc,” I said, “I’m going to tell you a few things. You may not like—”
    “Don’t bother, Pat. I don’t think you can tell me anything I don’t already know.”
    “You can’t know, or—”
    “Yes. Yes, I can know, all right, and still not accept. Fight against accepting. I think it might be better if I told you a few things about myself. When you know them you can understand about Lila.”
    “You don’t need to explain anything to me, Doc,” I said. “I—”
    “I should have done it before. You’ll be hearing things from other people, and you may as well get the straight story from me…Do you recall one of Myrtle Briscoe’s opening remarks this morning—the one about locking the vault?”
    “Why,” I nodded, “yes.”
    “That little barb was intended for me, Pat. You and I have at least one thing in common.”
    “You mean that—that you robbed a bank, too?”
    “Just a safe, a vault in the college where I was an instructor.” He smiled wryly and shook his head. “I made about as big a botch of it as you did, even though I didn’t go to prison. I sometimes wonder whether that was a break, whether I wouldn’t have been better off if…”
    “No,” I said. “No one’s better off for that.”
    “It’s something I’ll never