There was a moment's pause, and Dr. King seemed about to go.
"As you are freshly arrived," said he; "you may have nothing to occupy your time this evening."
"There is nothing," said Anthony.
"Perhaps," said Dr. King, "you'd care to take supper with me—at six?"
"I should be pleased," said the young man.
"There will be a few people whom you may enjoy meeting. And it may be I'll be able to be of service to you." The speaker nodded to the old apothecary, and shook Anthony's hand again. "Remember, at six. My house is in Front Street just a little way above the booking-place of the Trenton stage."
When the doctor had gone, Christopher Dent said:
"A great friend of your uncle's—a most intimate friend. In fact, I would dare say that, as physician and associate, he knows more of his doings and dealings than any one else."
At once, in that recess at the back of the mind where Anthony's discarded thoughts were kept, the imaginings of Magruder began to squirm and play for light.
"Does he, indeed?" said Anthony.