“But Mr. Roberts. I got some news. I seen him. I seen Martin, the cripple.” The big sailor laughed. “He was thin, at that.”
Roberts went around the desk and faced Rio.
“Get out,” he said.
“But Mr. Roberts!” Rio was still smiling. “I like you.” He rubbed his face gently against Roberts’, who moved back in astonishment and disgust.
“I said, get out!” The adviser spoke between his teeth.
“But I like you, Mister.” Rio put one hand back of Roberts’ neck and the other across his cheekbones. The adviser tried to move but the pressure stopped him. He stood quietly, his eyes looking frantically back and forth, the color in his cheeks flickering. Rio squeezed harder. Above the hand on his face Roberts could see his torturer dimly. The pain changed to lassitude and Roberts wasn’t afraid anymore. He remembered that he had dropped his Derby on the street a night or two ago. He had intended to send it to the cleaner’s, but had forgotten it. He could not condone such negligence. Then he went to sleep.
Rio looked at the man he was holding. Roberts reminded him of an old sailing vessel on which he’d once made a trip. She’d struck a reef off Cocos Island. Rio had watched the ship from the beach. Her stern was up and her sails dead. A red anchor light flickered like this man’s eyes before she sank in shoal water.
He carried Roberts to a chair behind the desk. Then he left the Employment Station, went to a phone booth and looked up Deane Idara’s address.
At the Employment Station Roberts heard someone in the hall. He tried to open his eyes, although it didn’t make any difference. It was probably that fellow returning to make sure that he had killed him.... Again came the strange fancies. It seemed to Roberts that he was chasing his Derby which was now being driven violently down the dusty street by the wind. Thump—thump—thump it went along the sidewalk, and at each corner, when he thought he had caught up with it, the wind would rise, and he would have to dash after the hat, trying desperately to retrieve it before the wind got hold of it again. “The cleaner can never make it right now,” he kept thinking dismally. “The dirt will be ground into it.” And once more, the hat made funny, hollow-sounding noises as it turned over and over on the pavement. Suddenly the Derby changed shape—growing enormous, building out misshapen shoulders, becoming a terrifying bulk which turned on him. Stricken with horror, Roberts fled before the onslaught of the monster. Thump—thump—thump— A janitor walked into the room.