"Strange you had to send for him," said John Quincy, lighting a cigarette.
"Not at all," she answered. She explained about the long feud between the brothers.
"Didn't think old Amos had that much fire in him," commented John Quincy, as they found chairs on the lanai. "A rather anemic specimen, judging by the look I had at him this morning. But then, the Winterslips always were good haters."
For a moment they sat in silence. Outside the darkness was deepening rapidly, the tropic darkness that had brought tragedy the night before. John Quincy pointed to a small lizard on the screen.
"Pleasant little beast," he said.
"Oh, they're quite harmless," Miss Minerva told him. "And they eat the mosquitos."
"They do, eh?" The boy slapped his ankle savagely. "Well, there's no accounting for tastes."
Amos arrived presently, looking unusually pale in the half-light. "You asked me to come over, Minerva," he said, as he sat down gingerly on one of Dan Winterslip's Hong-Kong chairs.
"I did. Smoke if you like." Amos lighted a cigarette, which seemed oddly out of place between his thin lips. "I'm sure," Miss Minerva continued, "that we are all determined to bring to justice the person who did this ghastly thing."
"Naturally," said Amos.