Purvis looked smug. He was childishly pleased with his phenomenal memory, and was inclined to ram its efficiency down Dallas’s throat.
‘I don’t pay you to find out about the past. I pay you to keep tabs on the present,’ he said. ‘We can’t all keep facts in our minds. I just happen to be gifted that way. So these two have talked with the Rajah?’
‘They have. They were with him about an hour.’
Purvis slid lower in his chair. He placed his finger-tips along the edge of the desk and began to play an imaginary piano; a trick of his that irritated Dallas almost beyond endurance. Dallas considered the habit to be the height of affectation.
‘Now I wonder why,’ Purvis said, executing a tril . He then commenced a complicated movement that ended in a showy crossing of hands.
‘Could you stop acting like Beethoven for a moment?’ Dallas said, breathing heavily through his nose. ‘Or would you like me to stand up and conduct?’
Purvis placed his finger-tips together again and stared at Dallas from over them. His eyes reminded Dallas of two sloes on white saucers; his face of an inverted pear. There was nothing attractive about Harmon Purvis, but he gave the impression that he would deliver the goods no matter how difficult the job.
‘I’ve always thought I should have been a professional pianist instead of a private eye,’ he said gloomily. ‘One of these days I’ll buy myself a piano.’
‘That’l be the day,’ Dal as said tartly. ‘Maybe it’l convince you you’re better at blowing a trumpet.’
Purvis waved this away with a chilling frown.