Swankle reported, staring down at Alecia, her legs drawn against her torso as she leaned against a table leg, coughing. “Marvin knocked the bottle over on her. I saw him hit the table.” Ivan’s hand clenched around Richard Marvin’s shoulder. Marvin moaned theatrically. “Let him go,” Swankle demanded of Ivan. “You can’t believe him,” Ivan said. “I saw him dragging her by her hair and dress. Look, you’ll see it is torn. Her hair is in his hand.” “Miss Loudon?” the other night watchman asked. She, still in a ball, merely held her hands to her throat and coughed. Ivan repeated himself. “He ripped her dress. He was pulling her by her hair, Swankle. You can’t believe him.” “You saw what you did, and he has an explanation for it,” Swankle said stiffly. “As a guest of this hotel, I have to believe him, unless the young lady says different.” “Can you speak?” Ivan begged her. She coughed again. Tears leaked from her eyes and drifted down her cheeks. He wanted to go to her, but was afraid of what the other man would do next.
