They were alone in the room.
Fenner said: “What could I do, Gerry? I had to go to Crotti when you told me he had this.” He put the last charred corner of paper in an ash-tray. “It took me a couple of days to get to him — I was damned near crazy...”
“Right.” Kells moved his head slowly up and down and his expression was not pleasant. “You were plenty crazy when you offered Crotti my scalp.”
Fenner stood up. He didn’t say anything, just stood there looking out the window for a minute — then he turned and started toward the door.
“I’ll give you a tip, Lee,” Kells’ voice was low; he stared with hard cold eyes at Fenner. “Take it on the lam — quick.” Fenner opened his mouth and then he closed it, swallowed. He said: “Why — what do you mean?”
Kells didn’t answer; he stared at Fenner coldly. Fenner stood there a little while and then he turned and went out. Borg and Granquist came out of the kitchen.
Kells said: “Thirty. I wonder if we’ll do as well with Woodward. These guys don’t seem to take me seriously when I talk about fifty thousand. Maybe it’s the depression.”
At a few minutes after one, Woodward telephoned. The crutches that Janis had called about had been delivered and Kells was practising walking with them. He put them down, sat down at the table and took the phone from Borg. He said, “Hello,” and then listened with an occasional affirmative grunt. After a minute or so he said, “All right — make it fast,” hung up.
He grinned at Granquist. “Twenty more. Up to now it’s been a swell day’s work. If we get it...”
Borg said: “Do you mind letting me in on how the hell you’re going to sell this thing to Woodward when you’ve already sold it to Fenner?”