Thorne patted her hand. She smiled gratefully, murmured an apology, kissed Dr. Reinach’s cheek, and went upstairs with Mrs. Reinach again.
They had just settled themselves before the fire again and were lighting cigarettes when feet stamped somewhere at the rear of the house.
“Must be Nick,” wheezed the doctor. “Now where’s he been?”
The gigantic young man appeared in the living-room archway, glowering. His boots were soggy with wet. He growled: “Hello,” in his surly manner and went to the fire to toast his big reddened hands. He paid no attention whatever to Thorne, although he glanced once, swiftly, at Ellery in passing.
“Where’ve you been, Nick? Go in and have your dinner.”
“I ate before you came.”
“What’s been keeping you?”
“I’ve been hauling in firewood. Something you didn’t think of doing.” Keith’s tone was truculent, but Ellery noticed that his hands were shaking. Damnably odd! His manner was noticeably not that of a servant, and yet he was apparently employed in a menial capacity. “It’s snowing.”
“Snowing?” They crowded to the front windows. The night was moonless and palpable, and big fat snowflakes were sliding down the panes.
“Ah, snow,” sighed Dr. Reinach; and for all the sigh there was something in his tone that made the nape of Ellery’s neck prickle. “ ‘The whited air hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, and veils the farmhouse at the garden’s end.’ ”