Routt smiled ingratiatingly. “I don’t know what he wants. He told me to meet him here about eight, to have a talk with you.”
“Yes. I asked him what he meant; and he said to wait. I supposed he had made arrangements with you.”
Wint said dully: “Yes, he has. He’s coming.” And after a moment, he added: “You might as well come in.”
Routt grinned. “You’re damned cordial,” he remarked.
“Oh, that’s all right,” Wint assured him abstractedly. He was thinking so swiftly that he seemed stupefied. His father came into the hall, and Wint said: “Here’s Jack Routt. Kite told him to come.”
Chase looked at Routt uncertainly; and Routt said: “I’ll get out if you say so.”
Wint shook his head. “No. Sit down. Go on in.”
They went into the sitting room; but before they could sit down, some one else knocked. This time it was B. B. Beecham. He stood in the door when Wint opened it, and smiled, and said:
“I’m not sure I understand, Wint. V. R. Kite telephoned me there was to be some sort of a conference here, about a matter for the good of Hardiston. I thought it curious that the word should come from him.”