“Mr. Smooty, Dr. MacArthur.”
Smooty was slight. His body and face were completely relaxed and pastel. Green eyes melted into mild cheeks. He had the utter inactivity and extreme alertness of a clown and the fading quality of a chameleon.
His grip was like that of a contortionist. One had to find it.
His voice was colorless.
“Delighted to know you, Doctor.”
Mr. Higgins turned to the woman and said:
“I beg your pardon, Miss Parkins. I should have introduced you first, but air-travel leaves me woozy. Miss Parkins, Dr. MacArthur.”
MacArthur was her kind and she sensed it. She stretched her capable hand and smiled. Their summary was like sun on metal.
One could never lose memory of her physically. She was tall, square-shouldered, with the long, slender legs of a gracefully tall woman. Her face was ugly and expressive. The nose was too short, the mouth too wide, but the flashes were sudden and revealing. They were as vivid, highly original and occasionally blank as heat lightning. And massed in with her extreme directness was a wistful, childlike appeal.
Her limpid eyes flashed into life as Dr. MacArthur carefully seated her, took her coat and motioned the men to chairs.