“No, I’m not very hungry,” he said, but sipped the coffee. “I’m going to the office.”
“It’s only twelve-thirty.”
“I’ll walk around a while.”
They walked slowly around the grim, gray city hall.
Robert shook off his weariness. Outside the entrance to the office building they paused. McCall lit a cigarette.
“I’ve got to interview some one at the Palmer House,” he said, throwing away the match. “Want a pill? Meet me there as soon as you’re through. There’s some sort of a conference going on.”
“All right. In the lobby.”
The outer office of the Dearborn Statistical Bureau was empty—the office force was still at lunch—but Freeman, in his shirt sleeves, was bending over his desk in his private sanctum. Robert entered.
“I’ve resigned—” he began.
Freeman stood up, a sneer on his face.