and duly went to a party
1
The two young men who rang James Prather's doorbell might have been well-dressed haberdasher's assistants, shoe salesmen, or stockbrokers. They told the goggle-eyed Mr. Prather that they were attached to the Treasury Department and had credentials to prove it. One of them, a calm blond boyish young man, said his name was Harrison. He introduced the other, who was red-headed and freckled, as Smith.
Prather's pale hands fluttered in the direction of the divan.
"Sit down, will you? What's the matter? Income Tax trouble?"
Smith placed his blue felt hat on his well-pressed knee and said nothing. He seemed intensely interested in the hat. Harrison pushed his own hat back on his tow hair and seemed to develop a curiosity about the ceiling. Nobody said anything. Prather remained standing, not quite twisting his hands together; and his lobster-like eyes moved from Harrison to Smith and back.
Harrison broke the silence lazily: "You know a man named Sam Jeffries, I believe?"
Prather frowned.
"Jeffries? Jeffries? No, I think not."
"He said he was here to see you. He was quite definite about the location."