“I’ll take one,” he assented, “and no more.”
He meant it. No one urged, or even suggested, a second drink. Benson went to the night clerk for his room key. Legere checked him at the foot of the stairs.
“Excuse me,” Legere said. “’Course, I mind my own business—but you knew him?”
“Oh, yes! Went to school together.”
“That so! Back East, I expect?”
“Yes, Minnesota.”
“That makes me think. You’re Benson—Robert Benson,” Legere said, “I see by the register.”
“Oh, yes!”
“Not—uh—not Patient Bob—uh?”
“Why—” the flicker of a reminiscent smile crossed his face—“I’ve been called that—”