Joe nodded. “He’s had the reputation of being mixed up in that sort of business. Nothing ever was proven against him though.”
“Povy seemed to be interested in Major Hartgrove on the train. But he couldn’t have been the one—”
Flash broke off quickly. George Doyle stood in the doorway.
Returning with the tooth paste, the sound technician had approached so quietly he had not been heard. His attitude was that of a person who suspected he was the object of discussion.
Conversation became general. Within a few minutes the two visitors took leave of Joe.
“I’m holing in over at the hotel,” Flash remarked. “Before I leave town I’ll drop around and see you again.”
“I’ll be here, too, until I hear from Clewes,” added Doyle. “So far I haven’t had any assignment.”
They shook hands with Joe, and quietly closed the door behind them. As they went down the hall, Flash could not keep from directing a curious glance toward Major Hartgrove’s room.
The door stood half open. A man in military uniform sat with his back to the corridor. Major Hartgrove, reclining in a wheel chair, also was plainly visible. As Flash stared at him, the Major returned the steady gaze.
“Someone you know?” asked Doyle.