Sudden coldness swept through him. "Still—haven't found him?" he repeated inanely. "Well—I guess—ah—that old buzzard's indestructible. He'll turn up."
"How do you think this will affect the hearing on Monday?"
Harker shrugged, only half-listening. He was thinking, You know damn well where Thurman is, and you're afraid to tell her. Why don't you speak up? Don't you trust your own wife? He wet his dry lips. "I—I suppose they'll choose a new chairman if something's happened to Thurman. But—"
"Jim, are you all right? You look terrible!"
"Lois, I—want to tell you something. Today—"
He stopped, wondering how to go on. She was staring intently at him, curious but not overly curious, waiting to hear what he had to say.
The phone rang.
Grateful for the interruption, Harker sprang from the couch and darted around back to take the call on the visual set. He activated it; Mart Raymond's face appeared on the screen.
"Well?" Harker said immediately, in a low voice. "Is the evidence all taken care of?"
Raymond nodded agitatedly. "Yes. But that's not what I called you about. Barchet's dead!"