He was helpless.

"How do you know he's still alive?" The woman's imperious tone left little doubt she was a lady.

"Alive? 'Course he's alive-why wouldn't he be? Just swooned, that's all."

"Swooned? Juggs, you're an innkeeper. For how long do swooned men stay swooned, especially if they're jolted about in a cart in the fresh air?"

Juggs snorted. "He's a swell-who knows how long they stay swooned for? Right liverish lot, they are."

"They found him slumped by Mr. Welham's body. What if he hasn't swooned but sustained some injury?"

"How could he have sus-got any injury?"

"Maybe he fought with the murderer, trying to save Mr. Welham."

"Nah! That way, we'd have his nibs here and someone else the murderer-that'd make two people coming in separate from outside in one day with no one seeing either of 'em, and that just plain doesn't happen."

The lady lost all patience. "Juggs-open this door! What if the gentleman dies, all because you decided he'd swooned when that wasn't so at all? We have to check."

"He's swooned, I tell you-not a mark on him that Thompson or I could see."

Lucifer gathered every last shred of his strength. If he wanted help, he was going to have to assist the lady; he didn't want her going away defeated, leaving him with the uncaring innkeeper. He lifted one hand-his arm shook… he forced the hand to his head. He heard a groan, then realized it was his.

"There! See?" The lady sounded triumphant. "It's his head that hurts-the back of his head. Why, if he'd simply swooned? Quickly, Juggs-open the door! There's something very wrong here."

Lucifer let his hand fall. If he could have, he would have roared at Juggs to open the damned door. Of course there was something wrong-the murderer had coshed him. What on earth did they think had happened?

"Maybe he hit his head when he fell," Juggs grumbled.