’Say，friend，’heshouted，’you’veleftyourgrip，’andhehandedmemybagfromtheluggagerack。Butheshowednosignofrecognition，andthelastIsawofhimwassittingsunkinacornerwithhisheadonhischestasifheweregoingtosleep。Hewasamanwhokeptuphispartswell。
Therewasamotor—carwaiting—oneofthegreymilitarykind—
andwestartedataterrificpaceoverbadforestroads。Stummhadputawayhispapersinaportfolio，andflungmeafewsentencesonthejourney。
’Ihaven’tmadeupmymindaboutyou，Brandt，’heannounced。
’Youmaybeafooloraknaveoragoodman。Ifyouareaknave，wewillshootyou。’