“Lam.”
“You said you had some money to pay me?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“I haven’t got it yet.”
Two deep furrows creased the centre of his forehead, and emphasized the length of his nose. “Who’s paying it?” he asked.
“Suckers,” I said.
The secretary had left the door open a crack. Crumweather looked me over with little black eyes which seemed unusually small for the size of his face. Then he got up, walked across the office, carefully closed the door, came back, and sat down.
“Tell me about it.”
I said, “I am a promoter.”