The huge darkey grinned.
"No, seh," was the reply. "De boss's in de yahd."
Joe regarded Mr. Mountjoy's Sunday attire with uncertainty. "If you'll step to de otheh doah," with tones respectfully lowered, "I'll fetch him; dis yere's de stoah-room."
As he was bidden, Mr. Mountjoy stepped to the other door, a single one at a corner of the structure, and after some minutes of waiting, footsteps within told that it concealed a stairway; then it was opened by the negro, who invited the visitor to ascend.
Mr. Mountjoy had no sooner entered the front apartment than he mentally ejaculated: "Why, of course! An ancient mariner like John would live just so, with some battered and weather-beaten shipmate, comrade of many an adventurous cruise; nothing more natural." He experienced a sudden admiration for the feeling which prompted the big, taciturn detective to keep his vocation from intruding upon his private life. The lawyer's glance was scrutinizing when it rested upon the twisted, limping figure which presently entered. He had deposited his hat and coat upon a locker-like box, noting as he did so that its surface was scrupulously clean, and he now stood expectant, with his back to one of the white-curtained front windows.
The visitor's inspection was only momentary.
"I am Mr. Mountjoy," said he, advancing and holding out his hand, "the District Attorney; no doubt you have heard of me."
A light of recognition and welcome, together with an underlying expression of more than usual interest, instantly broke over the shrewd, kindly countenance.
"Mr. Mountjoy!" repeated Mr. Follett, extending a gnarled and distorted hand, with which he grasped the other's. "Well, lawyer, I am real glad to meet you. Set right down there—that's Captain John's chair—an' make yourself comf'table."
The Morris chair was comfortable, as Mr. Mountjoy instantly discovered.