“My brother is in bed, and a friend is spending the night with him; but I will go and tell him.”
Several minutes passed before Tom could strike a light with the tinder-box, put on his clothes, and get to the door. Before descending the stairs he looked in the glass to see that the stains had been wholly removed from his face, and examined the floor to ascertain that no tea-leaves had been dropped from their clothing. He then descended the stairs and opened the door.
“Good-evening. What is it you wish?” he said.
“You are Tom Brandon, are you not?” asked one of the officers.
“That is my name.”
“It is believed, Mr. Brandon, that you were one of the party who poured the tea into the harbor this evening, and we have come to search for evidence.”
“Come right in, gentlemen.”
The officers stepped into the hall.
“This is the parlor, here is the sitting-room, and beyond it is the pantry. I don’t think you will find much tea, for we quit drinking it three years ago, and haven’t had any since,” said Tom.
“Shall we see your chamber, Mr. Brandon?”