“Yes.”
“Who?”
“The gentleman who called on us and entertained us with such beautiful, well-polished and interesting tales.”
“Granger,” said Grant.
Sleuth nodded. “Yes, I was seized by a consuming desire to visit Mr. Granger in his cabin retreat.”
“But how did you gug-gug-get across there?” asked Springer. “Did you tut-tramp it all the way round the lake?”
“If you will kindly permit me to recount my doings in my own way, you will become informed in a manner regular and satisfactory. I did not walk around the lake shore. I have never seen a fiction writer in the throes of composition, and always I have longed to know how they do it. Therefore, it didn’t take me long to decide that I would casually drop in upon Mr. Charles Granger with the design of discovering him at his labors. With this in my mind, I made arrangements with Simpson to take me across the lake in his boat at ten o’clock today.”
“Why didn’t you tut-tell us what you was going to do?” questioned Phil, a bit resentfully.
“Because I feared that some of you would insist on accompanying me, and it was not at all likely that Granger would be pleased to have several of us come in upon him. Furthermore, I wished to ask him some questions concerning his labors and his methods of writing stories, and it is said that some authors are much disinclined to talk about their business. I fancied that, alone, I could obtain much more satisfaction. It was necessary for Simpson to show me where Granger was to be found.”
“And you found him?” said Grant.