CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rescue WorkAlma Cowden sat up in bed at the Bailtown Hospital, partaking of a light lunch. In spite of a slight wanness, a puffiness about the eyes, and a stringy look to her hair, and also in spite of the fact that she wore an unbleached muslin hospital shirt, fastened at the back of her neck with a safety pin, her appearance was not forlorn. She looked, in fact, better than she had done since her first arrival at the beach.
She was entertaining two visitors. Lieutenant Barclay sat on her right, mixing highballs in two graduated glasses; Gamadge, on her left, was slumped well down in his chair, hands in pockets, and eyes shut.
“Here you are.” Fred Barclay handed him a glass, after giving the ice in it a final stir with a drinking tube.
“Thanks.” Gamadge rose to recei
