Thornberry leaped to the chief's side. "Lonely at this time of night? Dark? Not too many people?"
"Right on every count," Scott said. "Only a few night watchmen."
"This should be carefully checked," and Thornberry started for the door.
Scott turned to the dispatcher. "Tell them just to keep the place under observation until I get there."
There was an odd eagerness about the chief, odd until Bennington remembered Scott's grim analysis of Clarens' behavior, the chief's hope that Clarens would resist arrest.
And why do I now recall that time in Burma when I followed the wounded tiger into the cave?
What was I thinking of at the time?
Thornberry had disappeared into the corridor, but for once even the prospect of immediate action was not enough to get the impetuous Mosby out the door ahead of Scott.
Was I thinking of mercy, that I could not let a wounded beast which could not destroy itself live with continual pain? Thornberry would never agree, but Clarens is certainly both wounded and incapable of self-destruction.
Thornberry was already seated in the back of the car. Mosby was ready to seat himself in the front, Scott was opening the door to slide in behind the driver's wheel, but Bennington did not change his steady pace.