“What is eet?” he asked blandly, ignoring Pierre utterly. “Did some one knock?”
“I wish to see Sheriff Trenholm at once,” stated the clergyman. “Tell him that Doctor Nash is here.”
“He is away.”
“Oh!” Nash looked a trifle nonplussed, then asked briskly, “Where will I find him?”
Pablo paused, in his turn, for reflection. Trenholm had stated very clearly that should any one call him by telephone he, Pablo, was to say that he was to be found at Abbott’s Lodge. Trenholm, however, had specified a telephone call only, and not a caller in person, therefore, according to Pablo’s reasoning, he could not divulge the whereabouts of his master to Nash.
“He gone out,” he replied, assuming a stupid air and lack of English, which he spoke remarkably well, except for a distinct accent. “No tell where go.”
Nash’s disappointment was obvious. “Think again!” he begged, and jingled some loose coins in his pocket suggestively. But Pablo’s total lack of expression proved more exasperating than enlightening. “Come, where is the sheriff?”
“I dunno,” Pablo shrugged. “Maybe he come back to dinner, maybe not. Want to wait in your car?”
“No, certainly not.” Nash frowned thoughtfully. “Let me use your telephone a moment,” and he held out a bank note.
Pablo backed away. “Sorry, can’t use—” He got no further.