“Yes. The house was watched for a while; I understand they've given it up now.”
In response to questions about his own condition David was almost querulous. He was all right. He would get well if they'd let him, and stop coddling him. He would get up now, in spite of them. He was good for one more fight before he died, and he intended to make it, in a court if necessary.
“They can't prove it, Dick,” he said triumphantly. “I've been over it every day for months. There is no case. There never was a case, for that matter. They're a lot of pin-headed fools, and we'll show them up, boy. We'll show them up.”
But for all his excitement fatigue was telling on him. Lucy tapped at the door and came in.
“You'd better have your supper before it spoils,” she said. “And David needs a rest. Doctor Reynolds is in the office. I haven't told him yet.”
The two men exchanged glances.
“Time for that later,” David said. “I can't keep him out of my office, but I can out of my family affairs for an hour or so.”
So it happened that Dick followed Lucy down the back stairs and ate his meal stealthily in the kitchen.
“I don't like you to eat here,” she protested.
“I've eaten in worse places,” he said, smiling at her. “And sometimes not at all.” He was immediately sorry for that, for the tears came to her eyes.