“Yes, and here we are.” Harry King stood an instant––undecided. Certain things he wished to know, but had not the courage to ask––not on the street––but maybe seated on the veranda he could ask this outsider, in a casual way. “Drop in with me and have a smoke.”
“I will, thank you. I often run in,––in the way of business,––but I haven’t tried it as a stopping place. Meals pretty good?”
“Very good.” They took seats at the end of the piazza where Harry King led the way. The sun was now low, but the air was still warm enough for comfort, and no one was there but themselves, for it lacked an hour to the return of the omnibus and the arrival of the usual loafers who congregated at that time.
“You’ve made a good many acquaintances since you came, no doubt?”
“Well––a good many––yes.”
“Know the Craigmiles?”
“The Craigmiles? There’s no one there to know––now––but the Elder. Oh, his wife, of course, but she stays at home so close no one ever sees her. They’re away now, if you want to see them.”
“And she never goes out––you say?”
“Never since I’ve been in the town. You see, there was a tragedy in the family. Just before I came it happened, and I remember the town was all stirred up about it. Their son was murdered.”
Harry King gave a quick start, then gathered himself up in strong control and tilted his chair back against the wall.