I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. There was no one to be seen. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. He knocked at the door. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. Was there anything he could do! "No, Hoddy; nothing.
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