“That’s right. You did a good job.”

“You can’t tell me,” she said. “Ah, yes, would you answer a question for me?” Her tone was strained. “My mother is standing here and she wants to know who is going to pay for the telephone calls.”

He sighed. “You know what to do. Have the operator give you the charges. Make out a bill and then add five dollars for your mother’s trouble.”

“That’s it, you have the idea. Thank you, Mr. Leland.”

“You’ll be paid, too,” he said.

“I don’t have to be told. I’m sorry that Mr. Petrakis and I weren’t of more help. He told me to tell you that for him, too.”

It doesn’t matter, he wanted to say. The reasons aren’t unknown anymore. I know. He said thanks and put down the receiver and wondered what would have happened if he had said what he had wanted, how far he would have taken it. His eyes hurt—just hurt. It would be possible to sit in the chair and let the strength he had left evaporate. As it was, he waited a moment too long. When he got up he had to push against the arms of the chair. He felt very heavy. He moved across the room as if he had fallen asleep with the light on. It would pass. If a man took a nap every evening after dinner, he couldn’t move during that hour on the night he couldn’t nap. It passed. This was the same thing.

Karen rolled over as he opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I wasn’t asleep. I started thinking about the things they did to you, Roberts and that woman.” She pulled the blanket up under her arms and moved her legs to give him room. “They thought they knew you. They don’t. They couldn’t. It’s happened to you before in other ways.”

“You shouldn’t bother with that.”

“I thought of other things. I heard you on the telephone. I heard your voice, but I couldn’t make out what you were saying.”

“You should have listened in.”

“I couldn’t.” She pointed to the extension telephone on the dresser. It had been on the night table. “I wasn’t awake enough, anyway.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You didn’t talk to her.”

“That’s right.”

“I would have only heard the dialing. Not your voice.”

“Detective’s wife.”

“Your wife, I hope.”

He was quiet. He had thought that he would get to this and stare at her until he precipitated another scene, more confused and wild than the last, but something inside him was going again. In the past his bad ideas had come upon him with fanfares of emotion; when he had been lucky they had turned sour before he had tried to put them to use. The good ideas had appeared quietly, like men looking for work. He had seen their faults at once. He had been able to measure their effect. Now he was thinking, trying something as in a rehearsal.