“Here?” Thorne paused. “Where?”
“In de dinin’-room, sah,” stepping aside as Thorne descended the staircase and crossed the living-room. “He’s been a-waitin’ some time.”
Thorne quickened his footsteps. “Hello, Mitchell, I’m very glad you had the patience to wait for me,” he exclaimed on reaching the dining-room. “Cato, bring some Scotch and vichy. Make yourself comfortable, Mitchell.”
“I’ve been doing that,” laughed Mitchell. “Cato made me feel quite at home.”
“Good.” Thorne moved over to the dining-table as Cato, returning, placed a tray with siphon and bottle of Scotch whisky before him. “Say when—”
“Enough.” Mitchell took the tall glass extended to him and filled it with vichy. “What are you Virginians going to do when your state goes ‘bone dry’?”
“Endure it with other evils,” dryly. “I wish the legislators would remember, before passing such stringent laws, that we are not all ‘self-starters,’ and dry dinners can be very dull.”
“You speak feelingly. Was that your experience at dinner tonight?” asked Mitchell, observing that Thorne wore a dress suit.
“Yes.” Thorne pushed two chairs near the fireplace and produced a cigar box and ash trays. “What are the latest developments across the way?”
“Nothing later than the scene with Noyes this afternoon,” replied Mitchell. “Where’s that Englishman been hiding since the discovery of Brainard’s murder?”