Wray laughed nervously. “Now you’re asking me to be something of a clairvoyant.”
“No,” Mason told him, “I’m not asking you to do anything more than make a guess.”
“I couldn’t guess.”
“How about women?”
“Oh, no,” Wray hastily assured him. “No women. Walter wasn’t that kind.”
“What makes you think he wasn’t?”
“You didn’t know him personally?”
“No.”
“Well,” Wray said, “if you’d known him, you’d realize what I mean. He was sort of — oh, sort of cold-blooded — gave you the impression of having ice water in his veins — more the bookkeeping type. He didn’t make friends readily and wasn’t much of a mixer. I brought in most of the business. I like to circulate around. Walter—”
He was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone on his desk. Wray dove toward the receiver with an eager alacrity which showed he welcomed the interruption, said, “Hello,” then nodded to Mason and said, “It’s for you, Mr. Mason.” He passed the telephone over, and Mason said, “Hello,” heard Drake’s voice saying, “Okay, Perry, you win.”