"Not at all, not at all," said Warren rather vaguely. He was flustered at this new intrusion, and clearly had the idea Woodcock was trying to sell him something. "Glad to give you all the time you want. Well — we'll have a drink and talk it over. But not just now. My friends and I have an important date—"
Woodcock leaned closer.
"Exactly, old man. Exactly. I know. With the captain. It's all right now; it's all right," he whispered, raising his hand. "I understand, old man."
The conspirators stared at each other, and Woodcock's eyes swept from one to the other of them. "What," said Warren, "what's on your mind?"
"Ten minutes," said the other, "alone?"
"Well — yes. But my friends have got to be there. You can tell all of us, can't you?"
Woodcock seemed to scent a bluff somewhere. His eyebrows went up, but he spoke in a tone of pleasant and fatherly chiding, anxiously.
"Look, old man. Are you sure you've got it straight? Are you sure you'd like to have the young lady there?"
"Why not? Good God! what have you got into your head, anyhow?"
"All right, old man, if that's what you want!" He was affable. "I admit I'd rather talk to you alone, but I won't argue. Suppose we go up to the writing-room, where it'll be quiet."