Captain Malone was in a room as big as a hall closet. He got up from his seat behind the desk for an inch or so, and sat down again, looking at Travis with a faint smile.
“Hullo there, Elliot,” he said affably. “Mrs. Latham doesn’t trust us in Philadelphia, I guess.”
Travis grinned back at him. “Mrs. Whitney’s idea,” he said. “You outraged her so, carrying your disguise around, she wouldn’t let Mrs. Latham come alone.”
“Oh, you mean this.”
Captain Malone reached down by the side of his chair and took up a satchel. He brought out a suit of brown Colonial clothes—knee breeches and coat, freshly laundered white stock and tan waistcoat. He put it on the desk.
“What’s the butler’s name?” he inquired grimly.
Travis thought. “Beppo? That’s not his name. It’s Tchickvinski or something.”
“We
