“Hot or cold, it’s all the same to us,” said Roy.
Mr. Whiting unlocked the front door and admitted them to a wide hall and from there conducted them into a big library and flooded it with light at the touch of a button.
“Make yourselves at home now. If you want to wash come on up-stairs. You needn’t be afraid of making a noise, the place is empty except for Williams and he’s at the back of the house and wouldn’t hear a sound if he wasn’t.”
They trooped up after him to the bath-room and washed the dust from hands and faces. Chub, smoothing his hair with the silver-backed brushes which their host provided, encountered in the glass the gaze of Whiting fixed on him speculatively.
“Say, what’s your name?” asked Whiting.
“My name’s Eaton,” answered Chub. “And my companions are Mr. Porter and Mr. Somes. I beg your pardon, I’m sure; we ought to have introduced ourselves before.”
“Oh, that’s all right; I only asked because it seems to me I’ve seen you before somewhere.”
“It’s possible, I live in Pittsburg.”
“You didn’t have to tell,” said Dick, reproachfully.
“I’ve never been there,” said Whiting, “but all the same—Well, never mind. Let’s go down and see what we can find.”