Henry’s expression was tragic. “That would be too horrible.” He almost whispered. “You see, Jason’s birth was the only reason Lydia and I stayed married. For it to end like this …”

I sipped some cognac. “He does have an alibi, you know. His girlfriend.”

He nodded. “What kind of girl is she, Adam?”

“I don’t know. She seems quiet and not quite formed. Perhaps I’m getting older. But she clearly cares for him.”

“That’s all Jason wanted,” Henry said sadly. “It doesn’t seem much, does it?”

“It doesn’t necessarily seem easy, either.”

“He said you fought. How did it happen?”

“He said something. I lost my head.”

“He has an instinct for hurt. It’s ruined sensitivity, I’m afraid.”

I shrugged. “I pushed him too far. I shouldn’t have.”

“You’re all right, I hope. You look bruised.”

“I’m okay. I boxed some at the CYO when I was a kid and it kind of came back.”

“Stay away from him,” Henry said seriously. “I mean that. He’s an unstable man, full of jealousies you don’t know anything about.”

“He managed to get some of that across.”

“So it seems.” Henry’s voice was tentative. “Adam, why did you ask about Dalton Mooring?”

I hesitated. “Nothing hard. Just little things, times they were together. Is it possible, Henry?”

He rocked back and forth in his chair. “It’s possible,” he finally said. “It never struck me particularly, but at the club they would always dance.” He closed his eyes, as if to see them dancing. “He’s known her for a long time,” he murmured. His eyes opened. “Adam, I want you to check this out.”

I shook my head. “Roland absolutely forbids it.”

“But I have to know.” He pointed at the newspaper. “You’ve seen the headlines, I’m sure. All day reporters have called or just pounded on the door. I can’t keep on living under this shadow.”

“Rayfield’s got toll slips, you know. They prove your call to Lydia was twelve minutes, not two.”

He looked chagrined. “I suppose I was foolish. We’d fought, you see. Sitting there, I just couldn’t talk about it.”

“You shouldn’t have been there at all. But now you’d better tell me what was said.”

“Nothing, really. Just”—his mouth twisted—“accumulated disappointments. Personal things. Nothing about the will.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes.”

“And after that you just stayed there.”

He nodded. “Yes. Please, Adam, I need your help on this.”

I hesitated. But Henry’s voice had a desperate edge. “You’re the client,” I finally said. “It’s your job to tell Roland what you want, and who.”

“I will,” he said flatly. Finishing the cognac, he dabbed his lips with a cloth napkin. “Is that any better—you and Roland?”

“Worse. We had a blow-up tonight. I’ve committed heresy by thought, word, and deed.”