The old man took out a big red silk handkerchief and polished his nose with it. Into his watery blue eyes came a look of intense excitement.
“You’d better come in, gentlemen,” he said, standing aside and opening the front door wide. “I’m afraid you will find my quarters a little untidy, but I live alone.”
“Thank you,” Conrad said, and as they followed the bent old figure into the front room, he and Bardin exchanged resigned glances.
The room looked as if it hadn’t been dusted or swept or tidied in months. On the old, well-polished sideboard stood an array of whisky bottles and about two dozen dirty glasses. Most of the bottles were empty, but the old man found an unopened one and began to pick off the tinfoil around the cap with unsteady fingers.
“Take a seat, gentlemen,” he said. “You musn’t think I’m used to living like this, but I lost my wife some years ago and I sadly miss her.” He managed to get the bottle open and looked vaguely at the dirty glasses. “I should introduce myself. I am Colonel Neumann. I hope you gentlemen will join me in a drink?”
“No, thank you, Colonel,” Conrad said briskly. “We’re in a hurry. Did you happen to notice if Miss Coleman went out this morning?”
“Then if you really won’t, I think I will,” the Colonel said, pouring a large shot of whisky into one of the glasses. “I’m an old man now and a little whisky is, good for me. Moderation at all times, Mr. Conrad, and there’s then no harm in it.”
Conrad repeated his question in a louder voice.
“Oh, yes. They all went out,” the Colonel said, carrying the glass of whisky carefully to a chair and sitting down. “You mustn’t think I pry on people, but I did notice them. Are they in trouble?” The hopeful, intent curiosity in his eyes irritated Conrad.
“No, but I’m anxious to talk to Miss Coleman. Do you know her?”