“Forgive my rudeness, Friend Trowbridge,” he apologized when I re-entered the library an hour or so later, a parcel of flour from Bixby’s pantry under my arm. “I had a thought which required all my concentration at the time, and any disturbing influence—even your own always welcome presence—would have distracted my attention. I am sorry and ashamed I spoke so.”
“Oh, never mind that,” I replied. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
He nodded emphatically. “Mais oui,” he assured me. “All which I sought—and more. Now let us to work. First I would have you go with me into the garden where that gamekeeper saw the serpent last night.”
Mais oui“But he couldn’t have seen such a snake,” I protested as we left the library. “We all agreed the fellow was drunk.”
“Surely, exactly; of course,”
