door was locked. She tried it. She called. When she received no answer, she hurried downstairs.
"He came back, Miss," the clerk said, "but I don't know whether he went out again. He was sick, I think."
She waited for nearly an hour. Then she left. At six, Feathers arrived. Marge was with him. The elevator operator wanted the negro to use the service car. Feathers slammed the door. They rode upstairs to the seventh floor.
Verne was asleep. Ken still lay on Kewpie's bed. The arrival of Feathers and Marge waked him.
"I want a drink," he said. Feathers found some alcohol in the clothes closet. Ken drank it.
The telephone bell rang. Verne answered. The clerk wanted Kewpie.
"He isn't in," Verne said.
"You can't put on a party up there," the clerk said. "I had enough trouble with Mr. Gracey last night."
"We're going to put him to bed in his own room," Verne assured the clerk.
They led Ken into his room. "Don't give him anything more to drink," said Verne.
"Well, what are we here for?" Feathers demanded. "You chase me all over town. You get me here all because this auntie has passed out."
Verne took Feathers out on the balcony. Windows facing the hotel court were outlined in light. Night was falling.
"Kewpie's afraid he'll bump himself off if we leave him alone."
"What do you want to stop him for?" Feathers asked. "He's washed up."
