"I think it happened on Christmas," remarked Drene turning toward

the other and laying a finger on the number 25 printed in red.

Graylock's head bent slightly.

"Very well. Suppose about eleven o'clock on Christmas night you

give your automatic a thorough cleaning.

"If you say so."

"You have one?"

"I shall buy one."

"Didn't you come here armed?"

"No."

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Drene looked at him very intently. But Graylock had never been a

liar. After a few moments he went over to his desk, replaced the

weapon under the papers, and, still busy, said over his shoulder: "All right. You can go."




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