Miss Dwight merely smiled. XVI Clavering walked rapidly toward Mr. Dinwiddie's club. He was in no haste to be alone with himself, although he should have been at his desk an hour ago. But it was time Dinwiddie had some news for him. The club was deserted as far as he was concerned and he went on to Mr. Dinwiddie's rooms in Forty-eighth Street. There he found his friend in dressing-gown and slippers, one bandaged foot on a stool. "Gout?" he asked with the callousness of youth. "Wondered why I hadn't heard from you." "I've tried to get you no less than four times on the telephone." "When I'm at work I leave orders downstairs to let my telephone alone, and I've been walking a lot." "Well, sit down and smoke. Standing round makes me nervous. You look nervous yourself. Been working too hard?" "Yes. Think of taking a run down to Florida." "Perhaps I'll go with you. But I've something to tell you. That's the reason I called you up----" "Well?" "Don't snap my head off. Got a touch of dyspepsia?" "No, I haven't. If you had to turn out a column a day you'd be nervous too." "Well, take a vacation----" "What have you found out?" "It took me a week to get in touch with Harry Thornhill, but he finally consented to see me. He's lived buried among books for the last twenty years. His wife and two children were killed in a railway collision----" "What the devil do I care about Harry Thornhill!" "You're a selfish young beggar, but I would have cared as little at your age. Well--a cousin of his, Maynard Thornhill, did move to Virginia some thirty-five years ago, married, and had a family, then moved on to Paris and remained there until both he and his wife died. Beyond that he could tell me nothing. They weren't on particularly cordial terms and he never looked the family up when he went over. Has Madame Zattiany ever said anything about brothers and sisters?" "Not a word." "Probably married and settled in Europe somewhere, or wiped out. You might ask her." "I'll ask her no more questions." "Been snubbing you?" "On the contrary, she's been uncommonly decent. I got rather strung up the last time I was there and asked her so many leading questions that she'd have been justified in showing me out of the house." "You impertinent young scamp. But manners have changed since my day. What did she tell you?" "Nothing. I'm as much in the dark as ever. What have you found out about Josef Zattiany?" "Something, but not quite enough. I met an Austrian, Countess Loyos, at dinner the other night and asked her about the Zattianys. She said the family was a large one with many branches, but she had a vague idea that a Josef Zattiany was killed in the war. Whether he was married or not, she had no idea. . . ." Clavering stood up suddenly and looked down on Mr. Dinwiddie, who was smiling less triumphantly than ruefully. "Well?" he asked sharply. "Well?"