"Yes. At what we pumped from your stomach. And found in the girl's. Liquor, lots of that—but then, why aspirin? Barbiturates we expect. Roach pellets are not unusual. But aureomycin? Tranquilizers? Bufferin? Vitamin B complex, vitamin C—and, finally, half a dozen highly questionable contraceptive pills? Good Lord, man!"
"It was an accident. The girl—Julia——?"
"You are lucky. She wasn't."
"Dead?"
"Yes, Mr. Barth. She is dead."
"Doctor, listen to me! It was an accident, I swear. We didn't know what we were doing. We were, well, celebrating."
"In the medicine cabinet, Mr. Barth? Queer place to be celebrating! Well, Mr. Barth, you must rest now. You have been through a lot. It was a near thing. The police will be in to see you later."
With this kindly word the doctor and his silently disapproving nurse filed out of the room.
The police? Julia, poor Julia—dead.
Now what? What should I do? I turned, as always, inward for advice and instructions. "Folks! Why didn't you stop me? Why did you let me do it? And now—what shall I do? Answer me, I say. Answer!"