CHAPTER VIJim Lawrence sat alone with the Bureau Chief in the big silent office, a gray light at his back—the light of dusk, undoubtedly, but somehow more unnerving than any such light had a right to be, more coldly gray and unnatural looking.
The ambulance had come and gone, but the departure and hospitalization of Gillings had not diminished the tension in the least. If anything, the horror and uncertainty had grown.
“Gillings must have started sagging the instant the Scorpion stepped into the office,” Lawrence said. “I’m quite sure he didn’t say a word after that, I wasn’t watching his face at the time, but we hardly need a diagram. That Scorpion did something to his mind.”
“Isn’t it just barely possible that the blow you struck him—”
Lawrence shook his head. “A delayed concussion?
