‘But he said: “On what?”’ said that voice in him.
‘All right, he said: “On what?”! A fine world it would be if one was going to be suspected, if one was going to be judged, by every unconsidered remark.’
The Commissioner had once said to him: ‘You have the most priceless of all attributes for your job, and that is flair. But don’t let it ride you, Grant. Don’t let your imagination take hold. Keep it your servant.’
He had been in danger of letting his flair bolt with him. He must take a pull on himself.
He would go back to where he was before he saw Lloyd. Back to the company of Bill Kenrick. Back from wild imaginings to fact. Hard, bare, uncompromising fact.
He looked across at Tad, nose to paper and pursuing his pen across the page with it as a terrier noses a spider across a floor.
‘How was your milk-bar lady?’
‘Oh, fine, fine,’ said Tad, absent-minded and not lifting his glance from his handiwork.
‘Taking her out again?’
‘Uh-huh. Meeting her tonight.’