“Oh, Fitz, I’m too worn out, and I’ve a splitting headache. Won’t it wait?”
“No.” The voice was gently inflexible.
“More messages?”
“No; something I must tell you. Will you come out?”
“I suppose so.”
Her tone was utterly listless and limp. Utterly listless and limp, she looked, too, as she opened the door and stood waiting.
“Miss Polly, it’s about the woman at Perkins’s—at Dr. Pruyn’s house.”
Her eyes dilated with anger.
“I won’t hear! How dare you come to me—”
“You must! Don’t make it harder for me than it is.”