“Well — no,” said Harry, doubtfully. “I was driving up to Vermont. Happened to see Fellows before I left New York He told me to be sure to stop here, and to send his regrets.”
“Maybe you’d better forget Vermont,” urged Buckman. “Wait till I talk it over with Windsor. Come on. I want you to meet him.”
He took Harry’s arm, and led him through a hall. The click of pool balls came from the other end of the passage.
They entered a room where four men were gathered about a billiard table. The game paused as they entered. A young man, with friendly countenance, came to greet them.
“This is Mr. Windsor,” introduced Buckman. “Meet Mr. Vincent, Blair.”
Harry felt an immediate liking for Blair Windsor. The man’s personality was genial. He was a virile type, with an expression that betokened comradeship. He had the physique of an athlete.
The others were introduced.
Philip Harper was a short, stocky person, who thrust out his hand in a nervous manner. Vincent reckoned his age as past forty. Perry Quinn was younger — well under thirty. He was friendly in his greeting, but he displayed a certain reserve that impressed Vincent. This man might bear watching.
* * *
Harry Vincent withheld himself when he was introduced to the last of the four. The man’s name was Bert Crull. Harry felt quite sure that he was the young man whom he had seen in the farmhouse the night before.