“What, indeed! By the way, what is Major Bussey’s price?”
“Oh, Mr. Banneker!” Was it sheer delight in deviltry, or amusement at his direct and unstrategic method that sparkled in her face. “You surely don’t credit the silly stories of—well, blackmail, about us!”
“It might be money,” he reflected. “But, on the whole, I think it’s something else. Something he wants from The Patriot, perhaps. Immunity? Would that be it? Not that I mean, necessarily, to deal.”
“What is your proposition?” she asked confidentially.
“How can I advance one when I don’t know what your principal wants?”
“The paragraph was written in good faith,” she asserted.
“And could be withdrawn in equal good faith?”
Her laugh was silvery clear. “Very possibly. Under proper representations.”
“Then don’t you think I’d better deal direct with the Major?”
She studied his face. “Yes,” she began, and instantly refuted herself. “No. I don’t trust you. There’s trouble under that smooth smile of yours.”