“One moment, if you please.”
He remembered that Bruce Burt had warned him that he would come back and haunt him—he wished the corridor was one mile long.
There was nothing of the wraith, or phantom, however, in the broad-shouldered figure in a wide-brimmed Stetson sitting in the office watching Sprudell’s approach with ominous intentness.
With a fair semblance of cordiality Sprudell hastened forward with outstretched hand.
“I’m amazed! Astonished—”
“I thought you would be,” Bruce answered grimly, ignoring Sprudell’s hand. “I came to see about that letter—what you’ve done.”
“Everything within my power, my friend—they’re gone.”
“Gone! You could not find them?”
“Not a trace.” Sprudell looked him squarely in the eye.
“You did your best?”