“Yeah.”
His long face brightened immediately. He asked:
“You’re from her father?”
“Yeah.”
He stepped back and swung the door wide open, saying:
“Come in. Major Hambleton’s wire came to her only a few minutes ago. He said someone would call.”
We went through a small passageway into a sunny living-room that was cheaply furnished, but neat and clean enough.
“Sit down,” the man said, pointing at a brown rocking chair.
I sat down. He sat on the burlap-covered sofa facing me. I looked around the room. I didn’t see anything to show that a woman was living there.
He rubbed the long bridge of his nose with a longer forefinger and asked slowly:
“You brought the money?”
I said I’d feel more like talking with her there.
He looked at the finger with which he had been rubbing his nose, and then up at me, saying softly:
“But I’m her friend.”
I said, “Yeah?” to that.
“Yes,” he repeated. He frowned slightly, drawing back the corners of his thin-lipped mouth. “I’ve only asked whether you’ve brought the money.”