"If you two guys would give me some idea of what you're trying to find out," Prather said, "I might be able to help you. So far you haven't made any sense at all."
Harrison moved his eyes, giving the impression of a Government Man on an important job.
"Suppose you answer a few questions for a change, Mr. Prather. We could take you downtown with us and make quite a business of this, you know."
"What goes? AH you've done so far is make innuendoes. You haven't accused me of anything specific, and — well — hell! I don't like it!"
Smith turned his freckled face directly on Prather.
"What is 903 Bubbling Well Road to you? What did you say to Sam Jeffries? Who's the guy above you? How do you think you're going to get out of all this? There, my friend, are some specific questions."
James Prather's cock-lobster eyes regarded Mr. Smith with a sort of frantic intensity.
"But — but — but—"
Harrison said: "I see. Maybe you'd better come along with us, Mr. Prather."
Prather, it was quite obvious, searched his conscience, his capabilities, and appraised his ingenuity. He looked at Harrison. He looked at Smith, and his thoughts retreated into the inside of his own mind. From somewhere he gathered a certain nervous courage, and he set his mouth in a quivering line.