120
DETECTIVE BARNEY
“Gee!”
“How did you get up here?”
“I—I don’ know. I was in the woods. Runnin’. I—I guess I was scared.” He saw the room, in the rich lamplight. “Where am I?”
“You ’re safe,” she said, deeply. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I ’m wet, ain’t I? . . . I was swimmin’ . . . That’s how I got here.” And then, after long thought, he added: “Gee, I ’m mixed.”
He felt her shaking. It was in the hysterical relief of nervous laughter. He smiled up at her, with the wreck of his engaging grin. He said: “I ’m—I ’m glad I ’m here, anyway. . . . Where am I?”
She regained her gravity. “My name is Langton—Mary Langton. This is my father’s house.”
“Langton?” He had heard the name before. He could not remember where, and the pain dulled his effort to recollect. “I ’m on
