I was flattered into silence, and turned my attention to my roses once more. Father chewed his pipe stem—a reprehensible habit—and made an announcement.
"We've had another caller today," he said.
"You're as bad as Sarah for concealing things until the eleventh hour," I reproached him. "Who was it?"
"Denton's nephew."
This, in Green Hill phraseology, really fetched me. Round-eyed, I stared.
"Didn't know he had one!" I said, somewhat aggrieved. "Who is he, and what is he doing here?"
Father stretched out his long legs, preparatory to explanation.
"It's a long story," he said. "Briefly, this is a prodigal nephew. There has been some family feud in the Denton clan, but recently done away with. When the hatchet was buried, Denton got into touch with his late brother's family, which consists of a wife, and an only son, who is a doctor. He has just recovered from a slight break-down—overwork, I believe. And Denton through me arranged to have him come here to recuperate and at the same time to assist our good friend, McAllister in some of his surgical research."
By this time my mind was putting two and two together and making eight or nine.
"Not Doctor Denton," I asked, "the Doctor Denton?"