Blanc_ blew up in Halifax harbor in World War One...."

Weill threw his drink into the fire; he must have avoided throwing the
glass in with it by a last-second exercise of self-control.

"Well," he said, after a brief struggle to master himself. "One thing
about the legal profession; you do hear the damnedest things!... Good
night, Professor. And try--please try, for the sake of your poor
harried lawyer--to keep your mouth shut about things like that, at
least till after you get through with Hauserman. And when you're
talking to him, don't, don't, for heaven's sake, _don't_, volunteer
anything!"

* * * * *

The room was a pleasant, warmly-colored, place. There was a desk, much
like the ones in the classrooms, and six or seven wicker armchairs. A
lot of apparatus had been pushed back along the walls; the dust-covers
were gay cretonne. There was a couch, with more apparatus, similarly
covered, beside it. Hauserman was seated at the desk when Chalmers
entered.

He rose, and they shook hands. A man of about his own age,
smooth-faced, partially bald. Chalmers tried to guess something of the
man's nature from his face, but could read nothing. A face well
trained to keep its owner's secrets.

"Something to smoke, Professor," he began, offering his cigarette
case.