Clem Bonner came calmly in and sat down at the end of the desk opposite Judy. Bill Hogan’s bright blue eyes were fixed intently on him. Colonel Primrose glanced at Judy Bonner, sitting there, staring at the floor, a smile flickering for a brief instant in his sparkling black parrot’s eyes.
“Perhaps, Mr. Bonner,” he said politely, “you’ll be good enough to explain why you registered at the Washoe under a false name?”
Clem tossed his battered gray hat down on the desk. His jaw was set, his eyes sombre and unhappy, his mouth hard. My heart sank. I’d never seen him like this before. I’d known him chiefly as a friendly, grinning, charming young man usually coaching my two youngsters, who simply worship him, in broken field running—I imagine—across my back garden . . . something, certainly, th
