The owner of the Kit-Kat, Isobel French, told Lt. Arthur Ramírez, acting chief of police, that she was sitting at the bar with a friend when Elsie Muller, 34, an employee of the Festival Night Club on Gasparilla St., made her dramatic entrance.

Miss French called police, who rushed the wounded girl to the Bonita County Hospital. She had been knifed on the left cheek and in the breast, it was reported by Lt. Ramírez.

Ramírez said that Miss Muller told him she knew who did it, but that she would not tell, nor would she press charges.

Dr. Charles Ober administered first aid at the hospital. The patient was treated for shock, but no stitches were required. Miss Muller is expected to be released in a few days.

Shirley was now under the covers.

Clinton turned to her. “It doesn’t say anything about Berry-berry!”

“No, but it was him that done it.”

“Then why didn’t this woman give his name?”

“Lots o’ reasons. I’m gettin’ sleepy.”

Clinton went to the side of the bed. Her eyes were closed. He touched her face with his hand: “Please, don’t go to sleep now. You got to tell me.”

Shirley sat forward, her head propped up on her arm. “Listen, Clint, I don’t want to make you miser’ble. But your brother’s a mean kind of person. If Ize you, I’d quit lookin’ for him,”

“Shirley, he’s not mean. I’ll swear, if you only knew him . . .”

The little girl had become an old woman, her eyes cold and remote, filled with bitter, costly wisdom. “Well, maybe he’s not, who knows? Elsie’s not really sore at him neither, but she’s nuttier than anybody else put together. You know why she didn’t tell? She didn’t want to get your brother sore at her. Idden that a joke? —Besides, she had some pot in her room, and didn’t want the cops to find it.”

“What’s that?”

“Pot, you know, like Ize smokin’ last night. Marijuana.”

“You know something?” Clinton said. “You sure have changed a lot. I mean since before. You act different.”

“Look, you’re goin’ away, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. If you want me to.”

“If I want you to has got nothin’ to do with it. Has it? So why don’t you just do it? Go away and leave me sleep. I’ve already took my pill, you want me to waste it?”

“I’m goin’,” he said.

She lay back on the lavender pillow again and closed her eyes. Clinton found the panda on the floor and placed it in her arms. “I’m goin’ now, Shirley,” he repeated. “But aren’t we friends any more?”

The woman’s eyelids tightened slightly and there was a crease between her brows. “Little boy,” she said, without opening her eyes, “are you tryin’ to make me cry?”

There was a sudden loud banging on the door.

Shirley murmured, “Whoever it is, make ‘em go away.”

Clinton went to the door and opened it. The police lieutenant, Ramírez, entered the room. He reminded Clinton, by the quality of his glance, that he was dressed only in his trousers. Clinton picked up his shirt and put it on. Ramírez did not speak. He walked to Shirley’s bedside and looked down at her.