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.He made one think of a seascape on a dull day, all clean grays.Middling tall, erect, he walked in with so measured and deliberate a stride that his daughter beside him seemed to curvet like a pretty pony.“How do, Alan?”“Afternoon, sir.” Dulain, for his manners, rose.Kay turned her father with a touch on his arm.“Dad, this is Mr.Lynch who wants to talk to you about something.”The oyster-gray eyes were cool and inquiring.“Alone,” said Sam rudely.He heard Dulain clear his throat.“He’s about to warn you to look out for me,” said Sam quickly, “so let’s take that for said, and let’s get this over.Can’t we?”“I was merely going to identify you as an ex-newspaperman.” Dulain’s voice was buttery.It said, I am a gentleman.“I’ll identify myself whenever it’s necessary.”Charles Salisbury said frostily, “What is this all about?”“I’ll tell you what it’s about, alone.”“Then suppose you wait in there.” Salisbury was curt.“I’m in a hurry,” snapped Sam.“Daddy,” the girl spoke gently, “I should have said that Mr.Lynch is a friend of mine.” Her reproach was not for her father, Sam knew, but for him.“Sorry,” said her father more genially, “But your manner, sir.”“I’ve got no manners,” said Sam, “not really, and no time for any right now.Let’s get to it.” None of them knew what drove him.It was a mistake to sound so rude.But his sense of a long time wasted and the presence of Dulain combined to be infuriating.“If,” said Alan, now tolerantly, indulgently, “this is so private, Kay, perhaps you and I …”“No, no,” said Salisbury gracefully, “we can as well …”Sam’s voice rose.“Listen.Everybody.I want to see Salisbury a minute alone.And quick.Now, can it be arranged?”Salisbury moved his frosted brows.“Is what you have to say at all important?”“Very important,” gasped Sam.“Very well.I’ll give you a minute.If you will come with me.”Sam stumbled toward the indicated door.He felt reduced and compressed into a ruthless order, Salisbury’s sense of order, his measured pace, the marching regularity of his arrangements.He also felt like a boor and he felt angry.And once again Salisbury turned back.“Oh, Alan, about that boat of yours, use my anchorage, of course.”“Ooooh!” cried the girl, young as morning, clapping her hands.“Alan, you bought it?”“I sure did.” The blond boy was happy that she was happy and the father was held, watching, smiling at her pleasure, and Sam groaned.“Take me out on the Sound?” she cried.“When?”“Tomorrow? You don’t have afternoon classes?”“No, but, darn it, I’ve got my music lesson.”“How about after that?”“Wouldn’t it be too late?”Sam Lynch, leaning on the wall, said heavily, “Yeah.”“What?”“Too late.” He lifted both hands and they were shaking.“Listen.Please.What do I have to do?” His anxiety, his irritation cracked in the room.He knew it was wrong to expect them to meet his mood without his information.He tried hard to be fair.He said, without anger, “It’s urgent.” But it came out flat.There was a murmuring exchange between the men.Salisbury said, “Yes … er … I … er …” And then to Sam, briskly, “This way.”Sam wheeled but the girl’s voice came after him.“I hope you will come to see me, some day.”He heard Dulain’s voice warn, “Kay.”But she said, defiantly sweet, “Won’t you, Sam?”He said, “I guess not, sister.I don’t think so.Thanks all the same.” He followed where he was led, leaving the girl and the blond boy without another word or a glance, without turning his head.He followed through a door, down a short passage, into a small room full of books and leather.Charles Salisbury moved toward the desk.He rested his fingertips on its surface.All here was peace, was order.It was due time.“Mr.Lynch?” Now that he gave his attention he gave it totally.Sam stood in this man’s aura, a radiation of his decency and order.And Sam, too, leaned on the desk, with no time to waste.He said, quietly, “Mr.Salisbury, I came here to tell you that I overheard a plan to kidnap your daughter, Katherine.”“What,” said Salisbury with a bridling movement of his head, “are you talking about!”Sam was willing to concede that it took some time.He was willing to wait until this penetrated.He felt sorry for this man.He said, rather dryly, but patiently, “I’m talking about a plan to kidnap your daughter.”“You must be—” Slowly, Charles Salisbury sat down.“Don’t let her go to that music lesson.Don’t let her be on the street at any time without a guard.” It was too fast.“But you—” The man did not know how to look bewildered.He simply looked blank.“You must give me some grounds.I can’t believe—”“You don’t have to believe it,” said Sam, still patient.Still sorry.“You can’t afford to take the chance that I might be mistaken.” The father said nothing, but sat behind the desk, looking numb and blank.“You can see that, can’t you?” Sam pressed more sharply.Then he shrugged and half turned, for he must wait a little.“Just a minute, young man.” Now, the gray eyes showed a glint of anger and Sam suspected it was a way to cover and deny a thrill of fear.“What makes you think you can walk into my house and make so horrifying and sensational a statement without any—” But the father’s hands began to flap helplessly.The shell of his placid orderliness was cracking.“You must give me some facts,” he said, loud with his dismay.“Do you expect me to take you seriously?”“I do,” said Sam.“And,” he continued in a slow drawl, “perhaps you’ll notice, I am doing you quite a favor in this matter.”“Then you can do me the further favor,” said Salisbury sharply, “of explaining how you happened to—did you say—overhear?” His immaculate fingers tapped on the desk
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