CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
It was cold now. Not only in the evenings, but in the early morning also. Winter would soon make itself felt even in the daytime. Quince, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, sat at the great dining table, slurping steaming broth as Manchester hovered and served hot coffee.
“It’s awful early, Mr Quince, sir.”
“I know that, Manchester. I can’t sleep. Thanks for the soup.”
“Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“Rouse everyone, but not the ladies. I need to talk to Weasel again, get the story straight in my head.”
Manchester bowed slightly and shuffled out. Quince, finishing his broth, pushed the bowl away and leaned back in his chair, both hands wrapped around his coffee cup.
From somewhere deep within the house, raised voices complained about being woken so early.
