His eyes, narrowed as he listened, now widened upon Bean who stared determinedly at the cuffs.
"You know what she says?"
"Yes," said Bean doggedly.
Then his eyes met Breede's and gave them blaze for blaze. The Great Reorganizer knew it not, but he no longer looked at Bunker Bean. Instead, he was trying to shrivel with his glare a veritable king of old Egypt who had enjoyed the power of life and death over his remotest subject. Bean did not shrivel. Breede glared his deadliest only a moment. He felt the sway of the great Ram-tah without identifying it. He divined that mere glaring would not shrivel this presumptuous atom. In truth, Bean outglared him. Breede leaned again to the telephone, listening. Bean lowered his eyes to the cuffs. He sneered at them now. The intention of the lifted upper lip was too palpable.
"Gur-reat stars above!" murmured Breede. "She says she's got it all reasoned out!" There was something almost plaintive in his tones; he shuddered. Then he rallied bravely once more.
"Tell you, no time nonsense. Busy."
But he seemed to know he was beaten. He listened again, then wilted.
"What next?" he demanded of Bean.
"Ask her!"
"Nice mess you got me into!"