MR. STANNUM SAT IN his office at the restaurant with the door closed. Ever since he met with Mr. Price at the pharmacy, he’d been having strange feelings. He had thought he was doing the right thing, for his country, for his brother. He had, hadn’t he? Done the right thing? After all, it was his duty, just as Mr. Price said. His duty!
But now, well . . . he tap-tap-tapped his fingers to some odd beat.
What if he were wrong?
He pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket to dry his face, and as he did, a slip of paper fell to the floor. He picked it up and unfolded it.
He swallowed, then wiped the sweat from his neck as he read the handwritten words: WHERE IS YOUR HEART?