“He has,” George said.
“And whether, in spite of all that studied bonhomie, he’s got ulcers yet, or high blood-pressure.”
George laughed.
“Because if he has,” continued Mr. Moreton amiably, “that’s fine. He’s one son of a bitch I don’t have to envy.”
“Now, Bob!” his wife said reproachfully.
He spoke without looking at her. “Mr. Carey and I are going to talk a little business now, Kathy,” he said.
“Very well. Don’t overtire yourself.”
Mr. Moreton did not reply. When she had gone, he smiled. “Drink, my boy?”
“No, thank you, sir. I think Mr. Budd explained why I wanted to see you.”
“Sure. The Schneider Johnson matter. I could have guessed anyway.” He looked sideways at George. “So you found it, did you?”