The door opened and Doolin came a little way into the room, closed the door behind him.
Halloran did not speak.
Doolin stood blinking in the half-light, and Halloran watched him and was silent.
Doolin was around thirty; of medium height, inclined to thickness through all the upper part of his body. His face was round and on the florid side and his eyes were wide-set, blue. His clothes didn’t fit him very well.
He stood with his hat in his hand, his face expressionless, until Halloran said coldly: “I didn’t get the name.”
“Doolin. D — double o-l-i-n.” Doolin spoke without moving his mouth very much. His voice was pleasant; his vowels colored slightly by brogue.
Halloran waited.
Doolin said: “I read a couple of things in the paper this morning that gave me an idea. I went over to the Bulletin an’ worked on the idea, an’ it pans out you’re in a very bad spot.”
Halloran took a drag of his cigarette, stared blankly at Doolin, waited. Doolin waited, too. They were both silent, looking at one another for more than a minute. Doolin’s eyes were bright, pleased.
Halloran finally said: “This is a little embarrassing.” He hesitated a moment. “Sit down.”