I was pleased to see that the Count was a steady and solitary daytime drinker. In addition, there was very little tobacco in his cigarette; the sweet smoke filled the room. All this meant he was due for early dissolution, and I would not be numbered among his mourners. None of this showed in my expression or attitude of course. I was all flashing eye and hell-cracking attention.
"Is it action, sir? Is that why you sent for me?" I asked.
"Sit down, sit down," he mumbled, waving me towards a chair. "Relax. Want a cigarette?" He pushed the box towards me and I eyed the thin brown cylinders with distaste.
"Not today, sir. I'm laying off smoking for awhile. Sharpening up the old eye. Keeping the old trigger finger limber and ready for action."
The Count's mind was occupied elsewhere and I doubt if he heard a word I said. He chewed abstractedly at the inside of his cheek while he looked me up and down. A decision finally struggled up through his half-clotted brain.
"What do you know about the Radebrechen family?" he asked, which is about as exotic a question as I have ever had thrown at me.
"Absolutely nothing," I answered truthfully. "Should I?"
"No ... no...." he answered vaguely, and went back to chewing his cheek. I was getting high just from breathing the air in the room and I wondered how he was feeling.
"Come with me," he said, pushing over his chair and almost falling on top of it. We plodded through a number of halls deeper into the building, until we came to a door, no different from the ones we had passed, except this one had a guard in front of it—a rough-looking brawny type with his arms casually crossed. Just casual enough to let his fingers hang over his pistol grip. He didn't budge when we came up.
"It's all right," the Duke of Rdenrundt said, with what I swear was a peevish tone. "He's with me."