“Historic to the Wheelers,” was the grim reply, and then Mr. Appleby again relapsed into silence and spoke no further word until they reached the Wheeler home.
A finely curved sweep of driveway brought them to the house, and the car stopped at the south entrance.
The door did not swing open in welcome, and Mr. Appleby ordered his chauffeur to ring the bell.
This brought a servant in response, and the visiting trio entered the house.
It was long and low, with many rooms on either side of the wide hall that went straight through from south to north. The first room to the right was a large living-room, and into this the guests were shown and were met by a grave-looking man, who neither smiled nor offered a hand as his calm gaze rested on Samuel Appleby.
Indeed, the two men stared at one another, in undisguised curiosity. Each seemed to search the other’s face for information as to his attitude and intent.
“Well, Dan,” Appleby said, after the silent scrutiny, “you’ve changed some, but you’re the same good-looking chap you always were.”
Wheeler gave a start and pulled himself together.
“Thank you. I suppose I should return the compliment.”
“But you can’t conscientiously do it, eh?” Appleby laughed. “Never mind. Personal vanity is not my besetting sin. This is my secretary, Mr. Keefe, and my assistant, Miss Lane.”