" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. "I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab," he said. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative.
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