“Your name’s Freel?”
“Yes.”
“You were a bookkeeper and accountant for The Hidden Home Welfare Society years ago?”
The man’s nervousness increased perceptibly. “Yes,” he said.
“What,” Mason asked, “are you doing here?”
“Looking for work.”
Mason’s snort was contemptuous. “Try again,” he said. “This time try telling the truth for a change.”
“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what right you have to make these insinuations.”
“I could make accusations,” Mason said.
The stooped shoulders straightened. There was a sudden glitter of hard defiance in the faded gray eyes. “Not against me, you can’t,” the man said.