"Knew of her, but never had the pleasure of an acquaintance. I always—"
"Well," interrupted Rankin impassively, "Ben's her son. She died awhile ago, you remember, and somehow it seemed to break Blair all up. He wouldn't stay here any longer, and didn't want to take the kid with him, so I took the youngster in. As far as I know, the arrangement will stick."
For a minute there was silence. Scotty observed his host shrewdly, almost sceptically.
"That's all of the story, is it?" he asked at last.
"All, as far as I know."
Scotty continued his observation a moment longer.
"But not all the kid knows, I judge."
The host made no comment, and in a distinctively absent manner the Englishman removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses upon the tail of his Sunday frock-coat.
"By the way,"—Scotty returned the glasses to his nose and sprung the bows over his ears with a snap,—"what day was it that Blair left? Did it happen to be Friday?"