Tisdall's indifferent voice bade him come in.
The room was so small that Grant's involuntary thought was that the cell that waited would be no great change. A bed on one side, a window on the other, and in the far wall two cupboard doors. On the bed lay Tisdall in his shirt sleeves, his shoes on the floor. A book lay open, face down, on the coverlet.
He had expected to see a colleague. That was obvious. At the sight of Grant his eyes widened, and as they traveled to Sanger, standing behind Grant in the doorway, realization flooded them.
Before Grant could speak, he said, "You can't mean it!"
"Yes, I'm afraid we do," Grant said. He said his regulation piece of announcement and warning, Tisdall sitting with feet dangling on the bed's edge, not apparently listening.
When he had finished Tisdall said slowly: "I expect this is what death is like when you meet it. Sort of wildly unfair but inevitable."
"How were you so sure what we had come for?"
"It doesn't need two of you to ask about my health." His voice rose a little. "What I want to know is why you're doing it? What have you against me? You can't have proved that button was mine because it wasn't. Why don't you tell me what you have found so that I can explain away whatever it was? If you have new evidence you can surely ask me for an explanation. I have a right to know, haven't I? Whether I can explain or not?"
"There isn't anything you could explain away, Tisdall. You'd better get ready to come with us."
Tisdall got to his feet, his mind still entangled in the unbelievableness of what was happening to him. "I can't go in these things," he said, looking down at his waiter's dress. "Can I change?"