The eyes of the specialist in timber turned back to him uneasily.
"Well?" he echoed.
Hollister put the documents in his pocket. He gathered up those on the desk and put them also in his pocket. He was angry because he was baffled. This was a matter of vital importance to him, and this man seemed able to insulate himself against either threat or suggestion.
"My dear sir," Lewis expostulated. Even his protest was half-hearted, lacked honest indignation.
Hollister rose.
"I'm going to keep these," he said irritably. "You don't seem to take much interest in the fact that you have laid yourself open to a charge of fraud, and that I am going to do something about it if you don't."
"Oh, go ahead," Lewis broke out pettishly. "I don't care what you do."
Hollister stared at him in amazement. The man's eyes met his for a moment, then shifted to the opposite wall, became fixed there. He sat half turned in his chair. He seemed to grow intent on something, to become wrapped in some fog of cogitation, through which Hollister and his affairs appeared only as inconsequential phantoms.
In the doorway Hollister looked back over his shoulder. The man sat mute, immobile, staring fixedly at the wall.