CHAPTER X

There are many threads and many knots in a net; these can not be thrown
together haphazard, lest the big fish slip through. At the bottom of
the net is a small steel ring, and here the many threads and the many
knots finally meet. Forbes and Haggerty (who, by the way, thinks I'm a
huge joke as a novelist) and the young man named Webb recounted this
tale to me by threads and knots. The ring was of Kitty Killigrew, for
Kitty Killigrew, by Kitty Killigrew, to paraphrase a famous line.

At one of the quieter hotels--much patronized by touring
Englishmen--there was registered James Thornden and man. Every
afternoon Mr. Thornden and his man rode about town in a rented touring
car. The man would bundle his master's knees in a rug and take the
seat at the chauffeur's side, and from there direct the journey.
Generally they drove through the park, up and down Riverside, and back
to the hotel in time for tea. Mr. Thornden drank tea for breakfast
along with his bacon and eggs, and at luncheon with his lamb or mutton
chops, and at five o'clock with especially baked muffins and
apple-tarts.

Mr. Thornden never gave orders personally; his man always attended to
that. The master would, early each morning, outline the day's work,
and the man would see to it that these instructions were fulfilled to
the letter. He was an excellent servant, by the way, light of foot,
low of voice, serious of face, with a pair of eyes which I may liken to
nothing so well as to a set of acetylene blow-pipes--bored right
through you.