Cornelius Rysbroek had just driven up before the house in a blue
runabout. Now, sunk down behind the steering wheel, he gaped at the
black-bearded man who stood like a rock at the foot of a low flight of
steps.
Lawrence Teck put on his hat, gave Cornelius Rysbroek a blind stare,
climbed into a hired car. In doing so he showed his aquiline profile;
and Cornelius recalled the moonlit terrace of the Brassfields' country
house.
"It's he!"
The hired car set out for New York; and behind it, all the way, went
the blue runabout.