He was putting something into his coat pocket, and his back was still turned to the open door when Graylock stepped quietly across the threshold; and Drene heard him, but closed his desk, leisurely, and then, as leisurely, turned, knowing who had entered.
And so they stood alone together after many years.
V
Graylock looked at Drene’s heavily sagging pocket and knew what was in it. A sudden sweat chilled his temples, but he said steadily enough:
“I’d like to say a word or two—if you’ll give me time.” And, as Drene made no reply;—“You’re quite right: This business of ours should be finished one way or another. I can’t stand it any longer.”
“In that case,” remarked Drene with an evil stare at him, “I may postpone it—to find out how much you can stand.” He dropped his right hand into the sagging pocket, looking intently at Graylock all the while:
“What do you want here anyway?”
“I fancy that you have already guessed.”
“Maybe. All the same, what do you want?”—fumbling with his bulging pocket for a moment and then remaining motionless.