"I was aware of that," said Allison unconcernedly. "Most women who know Blan are desperately in love with him. Is that all you came to see me about?"
He half rose from his chair. Truggles made a hurried gesture of protest. He realized he had tried to move too fast.
"No, no," said Truggles hastily. "Forgive me, Dr. Allison, but I was agitated over the situation. What I really came here for was to ask you to give me some information about Mr. Forsythe."
"Why?" asked Allison.
The flat question caught Truggles unprepared. He was aware that his mouth hung open foolishly as he tried desperately to frame an answer that would not be too revealing.
"Why—I was trying to lay to rest some rumors," he stammered at last. "Mayor Sands said you might tell me something about Mr. Forsythe."
Allison was silent for a long minute. He took the cigar from his mouth, knocked half an inch of ash into an ashtray and resumed his puffing.
"Mr. Truggles, how much do you know about mice?" Allison asked.
Truggles stared at him, unable to answer. This interview was beginning to take on a nightmarish aspect.
"What do you consider to be the principal difference between mice and men, Mr. Truggles?" pursued Allison.