“Yes, I did. But before I begin I should like to be sure you are the Elisha Warren I came from New York to interview. Is there another of that name in Denboro?”
“Um-hm. There’s Warrens a-plenty all through this section of the Cape. Our family blew ashore here a hundred and fifty years ago, or such matter. My dad’s name was Elisha; so was my grandfather’s. Both sea cap’ns, and both dead. There’s another Elisha livin’ over on the shore lane.”
“Indeed. Then perhaps it is he I want.”
“P’raps. He’s keeper of the town poorhouse. I can tell you better if you give me an idea what your business is.”
“I am an attorney. And now let me ask another question, please. Have you—had you a brother in business in New York?”
“Hey?” The captain turned and looked his guest squarely in the eye. His brows drew together.
“I’ve got a brother in New York,” he answered, slowly. “Did he send you here?”
“Was your brother’s name A. Rodgers Warren?”
“‘A. Rodgers’? No. His name is Abijah Warren, and—Wait! His middle name is Rodgers, though. Did ’Bije send you to me?”
“A moment, Captain. Was your brother a broker?”