“Yes. His office is—or used to be on Broad Street. What—”
“You have not heard from him for some time?”
“Not for eighteen years. He and I didn’t agree as well as we might. Maybe ’twas my fault, maybe ’twas his. I have my own ideas on that. If you’re lookin’ for ’Bije Warren’s brother, Mr. Graves, I guess you’ve come to the right place. But what he sent you to me for, or what he wants—for he wants somethin’, or he wouldn’t have sent—I don’t understand.”
“Why do you think he wanted something?”
“Because he’s ’Bije Warren, and I was brought up with him. When we was young ones together, he went to school and I went to work. He got the frostin’ on the cake, and I got the burnt part next to the pan. He went to college, and I went to sea. He.... However, you mustn’t think I find fault with him for that. I sp’iled him as much as anybody, I guess. ’Twas later on that we.... Well, never mind that, either. What is it he wants of me, after eighteen years?”
“He wants a good deal of you, Captain Warren. Or did want it.”
“Did? Don’t he want it now?”
“I don’t know. Captain, I’m surprised that you haven’t heard. It seems that I am the bearer of bad news. Your brother—”
“Is ’Bije dead?”
“He died ten days ago very suddenly. In a way it was a great shock to us all, yet we have known that his heart was weak. He realized it, too.”