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Her clock ran down, her voice faded, she was going to sleep Her mouth twitched Ghosts of words came out, in bits and pieces

“Poor holy man Sap …”

“What holy man sap?” I asked

Crumley leaned forward in the doorway

Constance, deep under, drowning, gave answer:

“priest Poor crock Du in Blood in the baptistry Bodies, my God, bodies everywhere Poor sap …”

“St Sebastian’s? That poor sap?”

“Sure, sure Poor him Poor everyone,” enius Poor Sloane Poor wife E to live forever Boy! What a surprise to wake up nowhere Poor Emily Poor Hollyhock House Poor me”

“Poor as that again?”

“Hol …” Constance’s voice slurred … “ly … ock … House … ”

And she slept

“Hollyhock House? No film by that name,” I murmured

“No,” said Cru into the room “Not a film Here”

He reached under the night table and pulled the telephone directory out and turned the pages He ran his finger down and read aloud:

“Hollyhock House Sanitarium That’s half a block over and half a block north of St Sebastian’s Catholic church, yes?”