“No. By waiting for him at your home tonight.”
“You think he’ll be there?”
“We can see.”
“Hm-m-m,” observed Charles Blefken thoughtfully. “To-day is Thursday. I’m not doing much tonight, Joe. I expected to have a bridge game with three other men. Serious bridge, you know. Could you be there?”
“Certainly! But in what capacity?”
“Not as Santa Claus,” said Blefken, smiling, referring to the whiskers. “It wouldn’t be well for you to be in evidence, disguised or not disguised.
“I’ll tell you what! You come early and we’ll find a place to keep you out of sight.”
“Just one point,” objected Cardona. “This fellow Middleton isn’t going to show up if there’s a lot of people at the house. You know that. I can’t picture him walking in the front door.”
“Why not? He doesn’t say anything about a secret meeting in the letter.”
“No; but we can take it for granted that he expects you will be by yourself.”