"Ceroii's waited six years, four months, and twenty-three days. They'll wait another day. Let's do that, then, uh ... Mary."
"Yes, sir."
Marlowe switched off and picked up a report which he began to read by the page-block system, his eyes almost unblinking between pages. "Harrison, eh?" he muttered once, stopping to look quizzically at his desktop. He chuckled.
III.
At fifteen-fifteen, the light on his interphone blinked twice, and Marlowe hastily initialed a directive with his right hand while touching the switch with his left.
"Yes, Mary?"
"Mr. Mead, sir."
"O.K." He switched off, pushed the directive into his OUT box, and pulled the GenSurv and the folder on Martin Holliday out of the HOLD tray. "Come in, Chris," he said as Mead knocked on the door.
"How are you today, Mr. Marlowe?" Mead asked as he sat down.
"Four ounces heavier," Marlowe answered dryly. "I presume you're not. Cigarette, Chris?"