His sigh seemed relieved. "Would you mind looking out your window? A woman has just come into the lobby who says there's a man in shirt sleeves sitting on the parapet." "There is," I said. "It's my nephew, Paul Wilson." Mr. Harrison laughed uneasily. "Pretty dangerous--" I glanced at Paul. He was staring straight down again. "He's on the verge of jumping." "Jumping!" "And I can't get near enough to grab him. Whatever you do in a case like this--for God's sake start doing it quick! Only--if anybody tries to snatch him and he knows it--he'll probably go." "Oh-my-God!" "It's a mess. I'm sorry. And I need help. Intelligent help--quick." "Do what I can." I went back to the window. "Who was that?" Paul asked. "Another whore?" "The management," I said. "You're attracting attention." He grinned acidly. "I know. Quite a few people already." "Showing off?" "Not giving a damn." I sat down in a chair. I needed to sit down. Presently I called out to him, "If I get Marcia on the phone, will you talk to her?" "No." "Why?" "Because things are past that." He looked up Madison Avenue toward nothing. "Way, way past that." I smoked a couple of cigarettes. Nothing happened. The sun went down a few more inches. I suppose the top of the parapet got cooler. Big, square shadows began to ride up the buildings across the street. "Paul, come on in! Let's talk. You're in no condition to be doing what you imagine is thinking--and you know it! Anybody can put a period after his life, any time. What you need is a vacation. A decent one--with jack to spend--maybe at the seashore or up at Lake George. I'll give it to you. I'll persuade Brink you need the time off--" He laughed--laughed like somebody masticating gravel. "All the dough in the world couldn't buy me off this perch." "Nobody's trying to buy you. I'm trying to--" "Oh, shut up. I want to think." There was a light knock on my door, at that point. I opened it. A cop stood out there and a fireman behind him and Mr. Harrison behind them. The cop had a tough, smart face and he whispered. "Will he jump if we come in?" "Search me." "You okay?" "More or less." "Can you keep him talking? We're rigging a net in the apartment below there. We've got a couple of experts on the way, besides. Leave this door ajar--so they can get to your bedroom." I nodded. They slipped away. Paul asked, when I came back, "Who was it?" "The maid." He accepted that. "Cigarette?" "Thanks." I got outside and sat on my windowsill, about ten feet from him. "I remember," I said, "the first time it happened to me." "What happened?" "The first time I was really in love. Her name was Ruth. She was a little gal. Light-brown hair and the kind of eyes that look up at you. Little breasts and shy, inquisitive hands. I--" "Save it for the magazines."