“Yes.”
“How do you know? Did you see her?”
“No. Mr. Goodwin did. He had a little talk with her. Down in the living room. I thought perhaps—”
He chopped it off because the door suddenly opened. There was no knock, but it swung wide and Glenn Prescott marched in.
Chapter 12
The two counselors-at-law looked at each other. Prescott, having halted in his stride, advanced and said, “Hello, Gene.” Davis nodded but didn’t speak. I could see both their faces. Davis’s exhibited vigilance and contempt; Preseott’s, vigilance and a sort of exasperated solicitude.
“Relax!” Davis commanded. “Quit looking like the damned Salvation Army! I’m sober. These fellows jolted me sober. They know I was with Miss Karn last evening, and they know my name’s Dawson on 11th Street. So I’ve been answering questions. Nothing indiscreet. Just where I was Tuesday afternoon and things like that.”
Prescott said, “You’re a fool. You were a fool to come here. You could have been kept out of this. It can’t possibly be kept quiet longer than another day. When the papers start on it, and on you as a part of it — where are Dunwoodie, Prescott & Davis going to be?”
“The dear old firm,” Davis sneered.
“Yes, Gene, the dear old firm. We’ve made it, but it made us, too. You were headed for the top, you had it in you. You still have. I’m a pretty good lawyer and a hard worker, but you’re a lot more than that. You’re one of the rare ones, the kind that makes history. I don’t need to tell you that. And now you don’t even — you come here and step into this — oh, my God.”