“Walk in, suh,” exclaimed Joshua, impressed by Douglas’ well-groomed appearance; then he hesitated, embarrassed by a sudden idea.
“I’ll wait here,” volunteered Douglas, stepping inside the square hall.
“All right, suh,” Joshua closed the front door, “just a moment, suh,” and he stepped softly across the hall and into a room. Douglas glanced about him curiously and caught a glimpse of spacious rooms and lofty ceilings. It was a double house, and to the right of the entrance was the drawing-room, and back of that another large room, which Douglas took to be the dining room, judging from the glittering silver pieces on a high sideboard of which he had a glimpse through the door leading into the square hall. Across from the drawing-room was the room into which Joshua had disappeared, and back of that a broad circular staircase which ran up to the top floor.
Douglas was idly gazing out of the glass panel of the front door when Joshua returned, followed by a middle-aged man with a keen, clever face.
“Is it really you, Mr. Hunter?” he asked, as they shook hands warmly. “I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw your card. Come this way,” and he conducted Douglas into the room he had just left, and closed the door softly behind them.
“When did you arrive in Washington?” he inquired, motioning Douglas to take a chair near the window and dropping into one opposite him.
“Yesterday.” Douglas leaned back and studied his surroundings. His eyes traveled over the handsome carved rosewood bookcases which lined the walls, at the large desk table, and the comfortable leather-covered revolving desk chair. The desk silver, drop lights, and large upholstered davenport pushed invitingly before the huge fireplace with its shining brass fire-dogs and fender, each told a tale of wealth and artistic taste—two assets not often found together. His eyes returned to Brett, and he smiled involuntarily as he caught the other intently regarding him.
Brett smiled in return. “I was wondering why you looked me up so soon,” he admitted candidly. “Don’t think I’m not glad to see you”—hastily—“but I remember of old that you seldom do things without a motive.”
“On the contrary, I am here this afternoon to find a motive—for Senator Carew’s tragic death.” The smile vanished from Douglas’ clear-cut features. “One moment,” as Brett opened his mouth to speak. “After reading the account of the Senator’s death in the morning papers, I went down to headquarters to get what additional facts I could, and they told me that you had been put on the case. So I decided to look you up in person, and here I am.”