“The sheriff,” Pickering explained, “and our business is rather personal—”
He glanced at Stoddard, who looked at me.
“Mr. Stoddard will do me the kindness to remain,” I said and took my stand beside the chaplain.
“Oh!” Pickering ejaculated scornfully. “I didn’t understand that you had established relations with the neighboring clergy. Your taste is improving, Glenarm.”
“Mr. Glenarm is a friend of mine,” remarked Stoddard quietly. “A very particular friend,” he added.
“I congratulate you—both.”
I laughed. Pickering was surveying the room as he spoke,—and Stoddard suddenly stepped toward him, merely, I think, to draw up a chair for the sheriff; but Pickering, not hearing Stoddard’s step on the soft rug until the clergyman was close beside him, started perceptibly and reddened.
It was certainly ludicrous, and when Stoddard faced me again he was biting his lip.
“Pardon me!” he murmured.
“Now, gentlemen, will you kindly state your business? My own affairs press me.”