That screen would set me dreaming--and the blue roses and the moon
clock. I used to lie in that bed and send myself to sleep with more
tales than are in the Arabian Nights. There's a rift in the poplars
through which you can see a very bright star--Sirius, I believe. May you
have pleasant dreams, Mr. Rand, in my old bed!" He glanced from Rand's
flushed face to the papers strewn upon the counterpane. "You have been
writing? Would Dr. Gilmer approve?"

Rand looked somewhat ruefully at the scrawled sheets and the ink upon
his fingers. "It is a necessary paper of instructions," he said. "I was
retained by the State for the North Garden murder case. It is to be
tried next week--and here am I, laid by the heels! My associate must
handle it." He made a movement of impatience. "He's skilful enough, but
he's not the sort to convince a jury--especially in Albemarle, where
they don't like to hang people. If he's left to himself, Fitch may go
free."

"The murderer?"

"Yes, the murderer. These," he laid his hand upon the papers, "are the
points that must be made. If Mocket follows instructions, the State will
win. But I wish that Selim had not chosen to break my right arm--it is
difficult to write with the left hand."

"Could not Mr. Mocket take his instructions directly from you?"

Rand moved again impatiently, and with a quick sigh. "I sent him word
not to come. I will not bring a friend or ally where I myself must seem
an intruder and a most unwelcome guest. There's a fine irony in human
affairs! Selim might have thrown me before Edgehill or Dunlora--but to