“Where’s Simmons?” he asked. “He ain’t at the store.”
This was a lie, but Steve would rather tell a lie than the truth even when no advantage was to be derived from it.
Vane looked up from his letter, which was progressing very slowly and dully, and regarded the questioner from beneath slightly raised eyebrows.
“Not here,” he said, and stared down at the half-written letter again and crossed out the last line.
“He lives here, don’t he?”
“Not in this room.”
“He hangs out in this hotel, I guess.”
“He snores here, and eats here.”
“Guess I’ll go try the store ag’in.”
“Not a bad idea.”