His voice cut like a knife. “Dr. Grimwood,” he demanded, “is this a joke?” And he received no answer, and knew that it was not. And suddenly they felt the hatred flowing from him, inundating them.
Again he smiled his artificial smile. “Well,” he said, “this all may be good theatre, but what’s its purpose?” He placed his hands flat down on the table, as though about to stand. “You can’t compel me to stay here and undergo all this.”
“I think we can,” Pete told him, flatly, with no inflection whatsoever.
Hemmet’s face twisted. He half rose.
“Sit,” growled Norman Edstrom.
“And who are you?”
“I am a Treasury agent. You’ve heard of us. As Bill said, I’m in pharmaceuticals—hard drugs, that is.”
Hemmet did not sit down. “I’m afraid that I can’t help you. I can’t imagine what this is all abo
