A moment or two later the door opened and the housemaid announced “Dr. Thorndyke.” Varney stood up, and as the guest was ushered in, he looked with deep curiosity, not entirely unmingled with awe, at this tall, imposing man who held in his mind so much recondite knowledge and doubtless so many strange secrets.
“I think you know Mr. Varney,” said Margaret as she shook hands, “though you hadn’t much opportunity to improve his acquaintance at Sennen.”
“No,” Thorndyke agreed. “Mr. Penfield’s bombshell rather distracted our attention from the social aspects of that gathering. However, we are free from his malign influence this evening.”
“I am not sure that we are,” said Varney. “Mrs. Purcell tells me that he has just produced another mysterious letter.”
“I shouldn’t call it mysterious,” said Thorndyke. “On the contrary, it resolves the mystery. We now know, approximately, where Mr. Purcell is.”
“Yes, it ought to be easy to get on his track now. That, I understand, is what you have been trying to do. Do you propose to locate him more exactly?”
“I see no reason for doing so,” replied Thorndyke. “His letter answers Mr. Penfield’s purpose, which was to produce evidence that he is alive. But his letter does raise certain questions that will have to be considered. We shall hear what Mr. Rodney has to say on the subject. He is coming to-night, isn’t he?”
“He is not coming to dinner,” said Margaret, “but he is going to drop in later. There goes the gong. Shall we go into the dining room?”
Thorndyke held the door open and they crossed the corridor to the pleasant little room beyond. As soon as they had taken their places at the table, Margaret led off the conversation with a rather definite change of subject. “Have you brought any of your work to show us, Mr. Varney?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied; “I have brought one or two etchings that I don’t think you have seen, and a couple of aquatints.”