Langston,” I snapped. “Go and get him. Where is he?”

She shook her head. “There ain’t no Mr. Langston. He’s dead.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You reckon we ought to call the doctor?” Josie asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Wait a minute.”

Mrs. Langston stirred, and her eyes opened. I raised her with an arm round her shoulders, and held the whisky to her lips. She took a drink of it, and coughed, but kept it down. I handed the glass to Josie. “Get some water.”

In a moment she was able to sit up. I helped her into one of the armchairs and gave her another drink, mixed with water. Some of the color had come back to her face.

“Thank you,” she said shakily.

I waved it off impatiently. “Do you know who he is?”

“No,” she said.

“You don’t have any idea at all?” She shook her head helplessly. “But you reported it to the police.”

She nodded. “Several times.”

There was no time to lose. I went over to the phone and dialed Operator. “Give me the Sheriffs office.” A man’s voice answered after the second ring, and I said, “I’d like to speak to the Sheriff—”

“He’s not here. This is Magruder; what is it?”

“I’m calling from the Magnolia Lodge,” I said. “It’s about the psycho that’s been calling Mrs. Langston. I think you’ve had a complaint on it—”

“On the what?”

“A psycho,” I repeated. “A nut. He’s been bothering Mrs. Langston, calling her on the phone—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said. “What about him?”

“I think I can give you a lead, and if you work fast you may be able to nail him. He just hung up about two minutes ago—”

“Hold if, friend. Not so fast. Who are you?”

I took a deep breath.