He removed the band from the cigar, groped for a match. All the while his beer-stopper eyes stared moodily at me.
“You claim the Dodge belongs to Dr. Salzer,” he said, and scraped the match on the sole of his shoe.
“Mifflin says it does. I asked him to check the registration number.”
Brandon looked over at Mifflin who stared with empty eyes at the opposite wall.
“A half an hour after Malloy telephoned you, asking you who owned this car, you received a report from Dr. Salzer that the car had been stolen. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Mifflin said stonily.
Brandon’s eyes swivelled in my direction.
“Did you hear that?”
“Sure.”
“All right.” Brandon applied the burning match to his cigar and sucked in smoke. “Just so long as you understand, and just so long as you don’t get any fancy ideas into your head about Dr. Salzer. You may not know it, but Dr. Salzer is a very respectable and eminent citizen of this city, and I’m not going to have him bothered by you or anyone like you. Do you understand that?”