On verandas enclosed in
glass Wharton saw white-covered tables under red candle-shades and,
protruding from one end of the house and hung with electric lights in
paper lanterns, a pavilion for dancing. In the rear of the house stood
sheds and a thick tangle of trees on which the autumn leaves showed
yellow. Painted fingers and arrows pointing, and an electric sign,
proclaimed to all who passed that this was Kessler's. In spite of its
reputation, the house wore the aspect of the commonplace. In evidence
nothing flaunted, nothing threatened. From a dozen other inns along the
Pelham Parkway and the Boston Post Road it was in no way to be
distinguished.
As directed in the note, Wharton left the car in the road. "For five
minutes stay where you are," he ordered Nolan; "then go to the bar and
get a drink. Don't talk to any one or they'll think you're trying to get
information. Work around to the back of the house. Stand where I can see
you from the window. I may want you to carry a message to Mr. Rumson."
On foot Wharton walked up the curving driveway, and if from the house
his approach was spied upon, there was no evidence.
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