I ignored his hand. "How'd you know my name?" I demanded. "How'd you know I came here?"
"Oh dear," Sarah Fish said. "I don't know how to tell him, Sam. You'll have to."
Sam Golfin gave her a sympathetic glance, then looked grim. "This time," he said, fixing me with a stare, "I'm not going to try to spare your feelings. In—" He studied his watch again. "—exactly one hour and seventeen minutes you are going to be murdered. A man doesn't just get murdered without knowing who might have done it, who his enemies are. Someone in this house is going to kill you. Who is it?"
"You see," Sarah Fish said, her bosom expanding in an anxious breath, "you must tell us who did it."
I stared at them both, then gave what I intended to be a derisive laugh, but it sounded thin. "What makes you think I'm going to be murdered?" I said.
"For one thing," Sam Golfin said cautiously, "it's in tomorrow's papers."
"Oh, I see," I said sarcastically.
"I know you must think I'm joking...." Golfin said.
"Hardly," I said. And it was the truth. I thought he was crazy.
"I'm glad you don't," Sam Golfin said with relief. "Every minute counts if we are to save you."