The Boss looked up, still scowling. “What are you waiting for, Woolford?”
“Yes, sir,” Larry said. It was just coming home to him now, what he'd done. There possibly went his yearned for promotion in the department. There went his chance of an upgrading in status. And Walt Foster, of all people, in his place.
At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped off long enough to say, “Did you ever assign that secretary to me?”
LaVerne shook her head at him. “She's come and gone, Larry. She sat around for a couple of days, after seeing you not even once, and then I gave her another assignment.”
“Well, bring her back again, will you? I want her to do up briefs for me on all the information we accumulate on the Movement. It'll be coming in from all sides now. From the Press, from those members we've arrested, from our F.B.I. pals, now that they're interested, and so forth.”
“I'll give you Irene Day,” LaVerne said. “Where are you off to now, Larry?”
“Probably a wild goose chase,” Larry growled. “Which reminds me. Do me a favor, LaVerne. Call Personal Service and find out where Frank Nostrand is. He's some kind of rocket technician at Madison Air Laboratories. I'll be in my office.”
“Frank Nostrand,” LaVerne said briskly. “Will do, Larry.”
Back in his own cubicle, Larry stood for a moment in thought. He was increasingly aware of the uncomfortable feeling that time was running out on them. That things were coming to a dangerous head.