Pendleton, much impressed, looked at Ashton-Kirk. But the latter's thoughts seemed far away; his eyes were fixed upon the wall; his expression was of delighted anticipation.
Stillman also noticed this non-attention to his reasoning, and a little wrinkle of discontent appeared between his brows. So he turned his gaze upon Brolatsky and spoke rather sharply.
"Now, as to Mr. Hume's intimates? What do you know of them?"
Isidore Brolatsky shifted in his chair; his long fingers began to drum upon his knees.
"I have known of the matter of the Whistler portrait," said he, "but I never knew anything more about it than what I read in the newspapers. It happened before my time."
"I'm not accusing you," said Stillman. "I'm asking you about Hume's friends."
The clerk considered.
"There was no one that I ever saw or heard of that you could call his friend, exactly," said he at length. "He made game of people too much to have any I guess."
"Had he no associates—no one with whom he spent his time?"
Brolatsky shook his head.