“Time, time!” he protested irritably. “It’s just that we want to foreclose on. While it passes, she—good God! you don’t think she’ll do herself any hurt, do you?”
“I don’t think so, sir. You have her word. She’s seeking some asylum, from which she proposes writing to you by-and-by.”
“And you know the reason?”
“Yes. I think I may say I’m sure of it.”
He stared at me, where I had risen by the desk. His usual scrupulous jauntiness was all slack and unstrung. I noticed with concern that the bow of his shepherd’s-plaid tie was twisted an inch out of its place. He looked as if he had been out for many nights on end.
“It’s all deuced odd,” he said at last. “What devil’s abroad in the house of late? First you and your conundrums, and now this. Perhaps you’ll be telling me there’s some connection between the two.”
“Yes; I shall tell you that.”
“Ah!”
“There is a very close connection, sir, as regards one person.”
“What person?”