“It’s still black out there,” Scuddamore stared out of the duty room window.
“What was that, Scuddamore?” Watters held the length of foreganger as if the touch could convey a message.
Scuddamore returned to the desk and the pile of statements he was re-reading. “I said it’s still black out there.”
“Black,” Watters repeated, still holding the foreganger. “Dear Lord, Scuddamore, you’ve given me an idea. When I was at the British Mutual, the clerk said he was putting Muirhead on the insurance blacklist and recommending that others do the same.”
“I’m not surprised,” Scuddamore said. “If Muirhead is making false claims, why should any insurance company take him on?”
“Or pay out,” Watters said. “Scuddamore, maybe we’ve been approaching this the wrong way. Maybe it is not Muirhead scuttling
