Lowen exploded. "You're making me sick! You too, Crane, you looked qualmish." He leaned forward, spitting his words through clenched teeth. "The hypocrisy of it—you'd lie to your own soul if anything got in the way of this project. But now you can make nice prissy postures because I'm doing the so-called dirty work for you."
Fitzhugh waved for calm. "Agreed, agreed, Lowen, it is much more important than a squeamish little point."
"Much more important," seconded Crane.
Collins made a grim-faced return. "I have news from Huddleston's niece."
The three men tensed. "What—," asked Lowen.
"Gentlemen, you were right about the seriousness of his condition. He's dead. She said he became so excited about something you had told him that he had a serious relapse. He started to babble incoherently and never returned to articulate speech."
They leaned back, more relaxed. "A terrible blow," said Crane. "The least we can do is carry forward his work."
"You're absolutely right." Tired, he rubbed his silver eye-brows for a moment. "Gentlemen, I'll see to it that the Expedition gets every bit of support it needs."