He leaned forward, suddenly roaring and ferocious. "Why are Williams and I followed everywhere we go when we leave here? To see who we talk to? Is that the way of it? Why do quite a few of the ships you and I and Williams have rescued in the past few years never show up again? Just where are they? I don't see them reported missing in the newspapers, either."
He leaned back in exhausted satisfaction at the look on the little doctor's face. "Yeah, Doc, the only way to get anything out of you is to blast it out, isn't it?"
Pale and frightened, Williams hurried across the room to the table and, with shaky hands, took out three containers of coffee from the paper bag and passed them out.
Nobody bothered to thank him.
The hidden tension in the room had begun to mount steadily, so Donnelly helped it out a little.
"Is this the first time you've ever been on the defensive, Doc?" he asked.
Williams jumped in before the explosion. "When will the rocket get to the kid's ship, Doctor?" he asked.
"In about thirty days," the little man answered, coldly and deliberately.
Williams blinked in surprise. "Good Lord," he said. "I thought it was supposed to be in twelve hours or so?"
"That's the whole point," snapped Donnelly. "That's what I'm so fighting mad about. Think of it yourself, Williams. Suppose you had a son or a brother up there, how would you feel about this whole infernal, lying business?