before morning—and from time to time sat down beside Wilson trying to keep him more quiet.
"Have you got a church you go to sometimes, George ? Maybe even if you haven’t been there for a long time ? Maybe I could call up the church and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see ? "
“Don’t belong to any.”
"You ought to have a church, George, for times like this. You must have gone to church once. Didn’t you get married in a church ? Listen, George, listen to me. Didn’t you get married in a church ? "
“That was a long time ago.”
The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking—for a moment he was silent. Then the same half knowing, half bewildered look came back into his faded eyes.
“Look in the drawer there,” he said, pointing at the desk.
“Which drawer ?”
“That drawer—that one.”
Michaelis opened the drawer nearest his hand. There was nothing in it but a small expensive dog leash made of leather and braided silver. It was apparently new.
“This ?” he inquired, holding it up.
Wilson stared and nodded.
"I found it yesterday afternoon. She tried to tell me about it but I knew it was something funny."
“You mean your wife bought it ?”
“She had it wrapped in tissue paper on her bureau.”
Michaelis didn’t see anything odd in that and he gave Wilson a dozen reasons why his wife might have bought the dog leash. But conceivably Wilson had heard some of these same explanations before, from