He stumbled into a darkened room at the right, the maid turned the light on and went noiselessly away and Monty seated himself dejectedly on the edge of an uncomfortable chair and waited.
At a little after seven Monty climbed the stairs in Trow and knocked at the door of Number 32. Only the stout Granger was in. He looked up from the book he was reading and nodded with gracious dignity. “Hello, Crail,” he said. “Come in. Leon hasn’t shown up since supper, but I guess he will be along in a minute. How is the world treating you? I say, what’s up? You look like a funeral!”
“Nothing—much, thanks. I’ll find Leon downstairs.”
“All right.” Granger went back to his book with a sigh of relief. Visitors were always more or less disturbing when a fellow wanted to put his mind on a thing.
Monty met Leon halfway down the first flight and turned him back. “Got something to tell you,” he said.
“Well, come on up, then. It’s beastly cold outside. I’m frozen. They had a window open behind our table in dining hall.”
“Granger’s up there,” said Monty. “He’s sitting in the middle of his web like a big, fat spider. We’ll walk. You won’t be cold.”
“Oh, shucks! Well, all right.” Leon followed the other down the steps with a shiver and they turned along the bricks. “What’s your trouble, Monty?” he asked lightly.
“I’m through,” said Monty.