“And where is the Professor now?”
“Where the money and the trucks are hidden, darling. What difference does it make?” LaVerne said sleepily.
“And where is that?”
“At the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. It's owned by one of the Movement's members.”
He said. “There's a password. What is it?”
“Judgment.”
Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. He looked down at her, then over at the phone. In three quick steps he was over to it. He grasped its wires and yanked them from the wall, silencing it. He slipped into the tiny elevator, locking the door to the den behind him.
As the door slid closed, her voice wailed, still sleepily husky, “Larry, darling, where are you—”
He ran down the walk of the house, vaulted into the car and snapped on its key. He slammed down the lift lever, kicked the thrust pedal and was thrown back against the seat by the acceleration.
Even while he was climbing, he flicked on the radio-phone, called Personal Service for the location of the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation.