Her kindly old face flushed with pleasure.
"It's nice of you to say that, sir," she said. "We have our own garden, and William takes a great pride in it."
"I must go and see it," I said. "I've always fancied I'd like to potter around in a garden. I must see if Mr. Godfrey won't let me in on this."
"He spends an hour in it every morning. Sometimes he can hardly tear himself away. I certainly do like Mr. Godfrey."
"So do I," I agreed heartily. "He's a splendid fellow—one of the nicest, squarest men I ever met—and a friend worth having."
"He's all of that, sir," she agreed, and stood for a moment, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously, as though there was something else she wished to say. But she evidently thought better of it. "There's the bell, sir," she added. "Please ring if there's anything else you want," and she left me to myself.
I had pushed back my chair and was filling my pipe when the telephone rang. It was Swain.
"Swain," I said, "this is Mr. Lester. I'm at a place up here in the Bronx, and I want you to come up right away."
"Very good, sir," said Swain. "How do I get there?"
"Take the Third Avenue elevated to the end of the line, and then the trolley which runs along Dryden Road. Get off at Prospect Street, walk two blocks west and ask for the old Bennett place. I'll have an eye out for you."