As he looked through the window of his library, Lenox could see the chimneys on Hampden Lane giving off black wisps of smoke, as his own did, and he could see that all of the houses were brightly lighted, and inside all of them tea was either on the table or had just been finished.
He stepped back from his window and told himself that he would see about the note in a few minutes. Perhaps Jane would have another cup of tea for him, at any rate. For now, he picked up the evening paper again and read with great interest, while Graham arranged his things, about the parries that Disraeli and Russell were trading back and forth; for Parliament was just back in session.
Chapter 2
Even his meager boots, which had failed him all day long, were able to carry Lenox a distance as short as next door without his feet getting too wet. He tapped on the door, cheerfully calling out “Lady Jane!” through a side window.
Among the qualities that made Lenox perhaps the premier amateur investigator of his era was his memory. He could call up in his mind without any trouble crime scenes, people’s faces, and, most easily, notes from his friends. Lady Jane’s note had said: Dearest, Would you come over before supper, perhaps at a little past six o’clock? Something has happened. Do come, Charles. Yours, faithfully, amp;c. Jane
After a moment’s worry, Lenox had decided not to be alarmed. Close friends can write such notes to each other over small matters. He grew gradually more certain that it was something usual-one of her nieces was in love with the wrong man, one of her nephews had gambling debts-the sort of thing she always consulted Lenox about.