When this was finished, she soaked a washrag in cold water and scrubbed the stains from the bed, and made the bed.

Satisfied that she had been thorough, she took a business letter from an envelope and turned it over to the blank side.

She hesitated a long moment.

Then she wrote a note quickly, and inserted it in the crack between the frame and the mirror.

She looked once at the room, turned and walked out into the quiet hall.

Mrs. Pearl Lambert was not in the lobby.

The ladies on the couch did not notice her.

She walked very fast until she reached the highway; then she began walking slowly.

Within twenty minutes a gray Plymouth sedan pulled up.

“Want a lift?” the man in the car said.

Vy Griffin said “No”; then, before the door closed again, she said “Yes.”

“Going far?”

“Yes,” she said, and got in—

“How are things, Sam?”

The big man was perspiring. His face was red, and there were still the laughter lines about the mouth; but he looked different.

“All right,” he said.

“Good!”

Adam tried to be casual, but his mind worked quickly. Probably, he thought, she’s told him about it. Probably that’s it. It wouldn’t be in character for him to break into my room otherwise.

But, don’t second-guess him. Hang on.

“How’d you do in Farragut? Sell many—what is it?—pens?”

Sam Griffin moved his head up and down, slowly.

“Well now, I’m glad to hear it. Uh . . . did you want to see me about something? To tell you the truth, I’m kind of pooped. I—”

The big man rose suddenly; his fists were clenched. “Adam,” he said, “I know this isn’t any of your business, and I got no right to be bothering you with it—but I got to talk to somebody! I just got to. I’ll go crazy if I don’t!”

Adam hesitated; then he moved toward Griffin. “Sam,” he said, “what’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

The big man nodded. “It’s my business, though,” he said. “I don’t know why I come busting in here. Mrs. Pearl Lambert give me the key. You’ve got your own problems, I guess—everybody does.” He started for the door. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait a minute. Hold on, now,” Adam said. “I thought we were friends.”

Griffin stood still, breathing heavily. He seemed lost, afraid, like some gigantic animal.

“Aren’t we friends, Sam?”

“Sure, I guess. Sure. But you’re tired—”

“Not any more.” Adam took the man’s arm. “Sit down over there, Sam. Right now. And tell me what’s on your mind. Maybe I can help.”

“No. You can’t help.”

“I can listen, anyway. Come on.”

Griffin paused. Then, still breathing heavily, he turned and walked to the bed and sat down. Several times he opened his mouth, and closed it.