"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."
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."