There the Carson case reached a final summation.
Now Landis, who had grown very fond of his gruff colleague, had been watching him during dinner. He had found the old detective just a little subdued. Maybe domesticated was the word. Nor had he altogether missed a softening doubt—a trace of worry—in Mrs. Bernard.
With an eye on the face of his host he probed a little, after a fashion of his own.
“Well, marriage is a great institution, sir! And yet, though I’m almost ashamed to admit it, I shan’t be sorry to get back to work!”
Someone with a turn for imagery once compared the look of Bernard to that of a weatherworn and rocky cliff with the sun on it. At this moment a shadow darkened that roughhewn profile as though a cloud were passing overhead. “We’re both lucky—” Bernard declared with slow precision, “luckier and happier than we deserve, young fellow!”
“We certainly are, sir! But then, a man needs his work to round out the picture!”
Bernard frowned and stirred restlessly. He turned his head and caught his guest’s eyes on him. Landis was smiling a little. Bernard thumped back into his chair until it creaked beneath his weight.
“Why, you—you d—d, young billygoat!” he snorted. “Pumping me, were you! That’s what a man gets for crawling on the shelf—rusty wits!”
“I’ll probably need you!” Landis explained blandly. “To me, sir, you’re like a fine, staunch craft in harbor, with the winds of the open sea whispering through the rigging. Says I to myself: if I can just whistle loud enough through that rigging, why maybe he’ll put to sea again! Only don’t tell Mrs. Tall—Mrs. Bernard. Fact is, the real top-notchers are badly needed these days!”