Therefore he
had not gone far. Suspicion leaped red in Keith's brain. His
imagination pictured Shan Tung at that moment with Miriam Kirkstone,
and at the thought his disgust went out against them both. In this
humor he returned to McDowell's office. He stood before his chief,
leaning toward him over the desk table. This time he was the inquisitor.
"Plainly speaking, this liaison is their business," he declared.
"Because he is yellow and she is white doesn't make it ours. I've just
had a hunch. And I believe in following hunches, especially when one
hits you good and hard, and this one has given me a jolt that means
something. Where is that big fat brother of hers?"
McDowell hesitated. "It isn't a liaison," he temporized. "It's
one-sided--a crime against--"
"WHERE IS THAT BIG FAT BROTHER?" With each word Keith emphasized his
demand with a thud of his fist on the table. "WHERE IS HE?"
McDowell was deeply perturbed. Keith could see it and waited.
After a moment of silence the iron man rose from the swivel chair,
walked to the window, gazed out for another moment, and walked back
again, twisting one of his big gray mustaches in a way that betrayed
the stress of his emotion.
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