“Back again?” he greeted.
“Where’s the legitt?” Tom asked.
“Getting his suit pressed,” said Whalen.
“Would—will—do you mind stopping? I want to speak to you.”
Whalen stopped, leaned against a tree. Tom unconsciously paid him the compliment of being perturbed and not sure of himself. It was always so when he talked to Whalen.
“I—I—Ned, I know who you are.”
“Yes?” said the other.
“Don’t be—I know you’re Anson Dyker.”
“I thought you knew,” said Whalen quietly.
“You—thought—I—knew?”