He wandered about among the lower rooms for a time, and finally began to run through the books in the library.
But none of them pleased him, for it seemed a time for action; so shutting the bookcase door, he turned away; and then he saw Kretz’s daughter beckoning to him.
“Eh?” said he, staring.
“My mother,” said the girl, stolidly. “She is in the kitchen. She wants you.”
Then she vanished. For a few moments Mr. Scanlon continued his stare—but now at the empty doorway. Then with the little twist at the corner of his mouth, and with something like interest in his eyes, he made his way toward the kitchen.
The lamps, hanging from the beamed ceiling, threw but a dim light about the huge room; a sullen fire burned in the fireplace; the copper vessels gleamed dully. Upon a rush-bottomed chair near the blaze sat Mrs. Kretz. In her strong hands were some long steel needles, and she was knitting a stocking of blue wool. She nodded to Scanlon as he entered.
“Lena,” she said to the girl, “get a chair.”
A second rush-bottomed chair was brought forward by the girl, who then retired to a little distance and also took up the knitting of a stocking of blue yarn—evidently the fellow to the one her mother was engaged upon.
“My husband,” spoke Mrs. Kretz, “is outside. He is watching. He will not be in for some time.”
Bat nodded.