They walked onto a wooden porch and through a door with a wire screen; Lieutenant Peterson first, then Captain Webber, Mr. Friden and the rest of the crew. Mr. Greypoole followed.
"You must forgive me—it's been a while. Take chairs, there, there. Now, what news of—home, shall I say?" The little man stared.
Captain Webber shifted uncomfortably. He glanced around the room at the lace curtains, the needle-point tapestries and the lavender wallpaper.
"Mr. Greypoole, I'd like to ask some questions."
"Certainly, certainly. But first, this being an occasion—" the little man stared at each man carefully, then shook his head "—ah, do you all like wine? Good wine?"
He ducked through a small door.
Captain Webber exhaled and rose.
"Now, don't start talking all at once," he whispered. "Anyone have any ideas? No? Then quick, scout around—Friden, you stay here; you others, see what you can find. I'm not sure I like the looks of this."
The men left the room.