For a moment, he was unable to locate it…determine what was wrong. And then he knew.
The psych-tracer had stopped its burping.
He leaned forward and bent above it and there was no sound, no sound of heart, of breath, of blood coursing in the jugular.
The motivating force that had operated it had ceased.
Slowly, Adams rose from his chair, took down his hat and put it on.
For the first time in his life, Christopher Adams was going home before the day was over.
XXVI
Sutton stiffened in his chair and then relaxed. For this was bluff, he told himself. These men wouldn't kill him. They wanted the book and dead men do not write.
Case answered him, almost as if Sutton had spoken what he thought aloud.
"You must not count on us," he said, "as honorable men, for neither of us ourselves would lay a claim to that. Pringle, I think, will bear me out in that."