“Then I'll trade you, Bassett. I'll come over with what I know, if you'll tell me one thing. What sent him into hiding for ten years, and makes him turn up now, yelling for help?”
Bassett reflected. The offer of a statement from Gregory was valuable, but, on the other hand, he was anxious not to influence his narrative. And Gregory saw his uncertainty. He planted himself firmly on the pavement.
“How about it?” he demanded.
“I'll tell you this much, Gregory. He never meant to bring the thing up again. In a way, it's me you're up against. Not Clark. And you can be pretty sure I know what I'm doing. I've got Clark, and I've got the report of the coroner's inquest, and I'll get Melis. I'm going to get to the bottom of this if I have to dig a hole that buries me.”
In a taxicab Gregory sat tense and erect, gnawing at his blond mustache. After a time he said:
“What are you after, in all this? The story, I suppose. And the money. I daresay you're not doing it for love.”
Bassett surveyed him appraisingly.
“You wouldn't understand my motives if I told you. As a matter of fact, he doesn't want the money.”
Gregory sneered.
“Don't kid yourself,” he said. “However, as a matter of fact I don't think he'll take it. It might cost too much. Where is he? Shooting pills again?”