“Mr. Jones ran milk wagons.”
“Milk wagons?”
“Perhaps you would call them carts. Things with cans and bottles of milk in them, you know. We were not right in the city. The Bowery is a lovely green place with plenty of trees and a meadow. Our home was on it.”
“Oh, a place in the suburbs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did Captain Fordyce tell you about me?”
“He didn’t tell me anything. The Joneses said your business kept you in England, but I should see you some day.”
“Did any report of my death reach you?”
“No, sir.”
“And yet I sent one,” he said. “It was a father’s stratagem to bring his child within reach.”