IV.
He took a strong bromide that night and got himself some sleep, and his reasoning reassumed, with dawn, a certain supremacy. He went to the office, not because he felt up to it but because he knew he would never be able to go again. He was glad he had gone, when Mr. George Eddington came in late in the morning.
“Man, you look sick,” Eddington said.
“It’s only the heat.”
“Better see a doctor.”
“I will,” said Butler, “but it’s nothing.”
“What’s happened here the last two weeks?”
BUSINESS WOMAN, DISPIRITED.
LEAPS NINE FLOORS TO DEATH.
“Very little,” he said aloud. “We’ve moved out of the Two Hundredth Street warehouse.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“Your brother’s.”
“I’d rather you’d refer all such things to me for confirmation. We may have to move in again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where’s
