"What kind of umbrella?" He asks, like that's a relevant question. Either that or he's just messing with her, because sleep deprivation aside, that dry lack of humor hasn't gone unnoticed.

Looks her over again — considers the outfit, the accent, the quiet impatience. She doesn't seem particularly thrilled by his company, but she does seem smart. And while she could be lying about what she found, he sort of doubts she'd lie about finding an umbrella. So, after a beat of thought, he takes a gamble.

"I found information on a compound. Said it was in Maine."