He looked down at me with that relaxed, pink look and said, "No, Mr. Collins," and went back to his polishing.
The damned liar. He knew what I meant. He justified himself on a technicality.
I left Vicki Monday morning with more confidence than I'd had in ages. She had slept especially well, and the only thing on her mind was Clumsy's disappearance. He hadn't shown up since Soth scared the fleas off him with that hiss.
At the office, I had my girl transcribe my notes and work up a memorandum to the board of directors. We sent it around before noon, and shortly after lunch I had calls from all ten of them, including the chairman. It was not that they considered it such a big thing—they were just plainly curious. We scheduled a meeting for Tuesday morning, to talk the thing over.
That night when I got home, all was serene. Soth served us cocktails, dinner and a late snack, and had the place tidied up by bedtime. He did all this and managed to remain virtually invisible. He moved so quietly and with such uncanny anticipation of our demands, it was if he were an old family retainer, long versed in our habits and customs.
Vicki bragged as she undressed that she had the giant hog-tied and jumping through hoops.
"We even got half the excavation done for the rock wall," she said proudly.
On impulse, I went out into the hall and down to Soth's room, where I found him stretched out slaunchwise across the double bed.
He opened his eyes as I came in, but didn't stir.