She went with him to the door and stood there, her soft hair blowing, as he got into the car.  When he looked back, as he turned the corner, she was still there.  He felt very happy affable, and he picked up an elderly village woman with her and went considerably out of his way to take her home.

He got back to the office at half past six to find a red-eyed Minnie in the hall.

X

At half past five that afternoon David had let himself into the house with his latch key, hung up his overcoat on the old walnut hat rack, and went into his office.  The strain of the days before had told on him, and he felt weary and not entirely well.  He had fallen asleep in his buggy, and had wakened to find old Nettie drawing him slowly down the main street of the town, pursuing an erratic but homeward course, while the people on the pavements watched and smiled.

He went into his office, closed the door, and then, on the old leather couch with its sagging springs he stretched himself out to finish his nap.

Almost immediately, however, the doorbell rang, and a moment later Minnie opened his door.

“Gentleman to see you, Doctor David.”

He got up clumsily and settled his collar.  Then he opened the door into his waiting-room.

“Come in,” he said resignedly.

A small, dapper man, in precisely the type of clothes David most abominated, and wearing light-colored spats, rose from his chair and looked at him with evident surprise.

“I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake.  A Doctor Livingstone left his seat number for calls at the box office of the Annex Theater last night —­the Happy Valley company—­but he was a younger man.  I—­”

David stiffened, but he surveyed his visitor impassively from under his shaggy white eyebrows.

“I haven’t been in a theater for a dozen years, sir.”

Gregory was convinced that he had made a mistake.  Like Louis Bassett, the very unlikeliness of Jud Clark being connected with the domestic atmosphere and quiet respectability of the old house made him feel intrusive and absurd.  He was about to apologize and turn away, when he thought of something.

“There are two names on your sign.  The other one, was he by any chance at the theater last night?”

“I think I shall have to have a reason for these inquiries,” David said slowly.

He was trying to place Gregory, to fit him into the situation; straining back over ten years of security, racking his memory, without result.

“Just what have you come to find out?” he asked, as Gregory turned and looked around the room.

“The other Doctor Livingstone is your brother?”

“My nephew.”

Gregory shot a sharp glance at him, but all he saw was an elderly man, with heavy white hair and fierce shaggy eyebrows, a portly and dignified elderly gentleman, rather resentfully courteous.