As for Sands....
Old fool! Entrenched politician! Truggles had dealt with such civic laxity before. Direct action would be necessary.
There was a touch of frost on the grass the evening Masefield Truggles went again to the Allison home. Dr. Alex Allison, a chubby man with rimless spectacles, admitted him.
Truggles caught a glimpse of Phyllis Allison and the boy, Donald, in the kitchen as Allison led him through the dining room. They mounted a short flight of stairs to Allison's study.
Allison offered him wine and a cigar. Truggles refused. Allison placed the wine decanter back on the shelf unopened, but lit a cigar and settled back comfortably in his chair.
"Well, Mr. Truggles?" he asked briskly, with the air of a man who had no time to waste. Truggles looked him over, assessing him, and decided on the direct attack.
"I wonder if you are aware, Dr. Allison," he said softly, "that your employer is breaking up your home?"
He waited for the reaction. There was none. Allison puffed calmly on his cigar and waited. The light glinted from his spectacles as he kept his eyes fixed steadily on Truggles' face.
"Dr. Allison, your wife confessed to me that she still loves her former husband, Blan Forsythe," said Truggles, emphasizing every word.