“Rawson’s coming. And it’s nearly nine.”
Rawson came in by the window, his eyes blinking in the room’s brightness. He came briskly, with something of theatrical effect in his silent entrance, his purposeful walk to the desk. Bassett at once noticed a change in him, a suggestion of enhanced forces, of faculties recharged with energy. He tried to look stern but satisfaction shone in his eyes and lit his long lantern-jawed face. He was like the bearer of good tidings who would have worn the high smile of triumph if a smile were fitting.
“Well,” said Williams, “where the devil have you been?”
“Down the coast, twenty-five miles, on roads that would have put anything but a flivver out of commission.”
“You got something?”
“I did—this time. We’re on the right track now if I’m not much mistaken.”
Williams gave an incredulous grunt. He did not believe in new material and in advance placed himself in stubborn opposition:
“What did you go down the coast for?”
“To find a man called Gabriel Harvey.”
Bassett, about to sit down, stopped in surprise: