She had opened the screen door. Browne went in and followed her into the study. He looked around at the walls of books, almost feeling the presence of the man whose retreat this had been.
"That's what I've come here to see you about," Browne said. "You see, he called on me at my office the morning of the day he vanished."
"He did?"
"Yes. I'm going to be quite frank with you. He returned the check to me."
"Why? He said nothing to me about it."
"I rather imagine he didn't have time. I've waited, knowing you wouldn't care to discuss business so soon after—" He waited for her reaction. When she said nothing he continued. "He returned the check and said he didn't want the book published after all. I couldn't quite understand his reasons, but they are no longer valid as I see it."
"What were his reasons? This surprises me very much. Just the day before that he mentioned his book and expressed pleasure that it was being published."
"The reasons he gave were that the book contained some things that were—to use his own words—a trifle crackpottish. He thought they might reflect on him in some way."
"Oh my goodness. He was always doing something like that, Mr. Browne. He leaned over backwards. Scientific integrity was a fetish with him."
"I haven't read the book," Mr. Browne said. "The reader reported it was far better than Dr. Grant's first one. That was good enough for me. The reader is no longer with us." He frowned in irritation at the memory. "Left us without giving notice. But he was a good man. Excellent judgment. I'd like to go ahead with the book unless you object."