Sinclair stretched a friendly hand toward the shoulder of the smaller man. The hand passed through thin air. Gaspar had slipped away. He stood at a greater distance. On his face there was a strong expression of displeasure.
Sinclair scowled darkly. "Now what d'you mean by that?"
"I mean that I don't envy you," said Gaspar steadily. "I'd rather have the other thing."
"What other thing, Jig?"
Gaspar overlooked the contemptuous nickname, doubly contemptuous on the lips of a stranger.
"You go into the world and take what you want. I'm stronger than that."
"How are you stronger?" asked Riley.
"Because I sit in my room, and I can make the world come to me."
"Jig, I was never smart at riddles. Go ahead and clear yourself up with a few more words."
The other hesitated—not for words, but as if he wondered if it might be worth while for him to explain. Never in Riley Sinclair's life had he been taken so lightly.