"You'd better. There's a room outside. Your baggage is there too."
"Um—that's nice of you, Moira. R'turnin' good for evil. Baggage. He brought it—didn' he?"
"Yes, Harry."
He paused a moment and then leaned forward in his chair while she watched him curiously.
"Rotten mess! What?" he mumbled.
She didn't reply. And he went on, concentrating thought with difficulty. "He told you I tried—kill him—didn' he?" He wagged his head comically. "I couldn' do that—not kill 'im—wouldn't do y'know—m'own brother—no—not that——"
He put his hands to his eyes a moment and swayed, but Moira steadied him by the shoulder.
"Harry—come. I'll help you. You must go to bed."
"Not yet—in a minute. Somethin'—say."
He groped for her hand on his shoulder, found and clung to it.