“You don’t look Irish but you must have some Irish in you to speak such blarney. I daresay I’m almost old enough to be your mother.” She patted the sides of her pompadour, though not a hair was out of place. “Lockwood does travel quite a lot, the business he’s in. I’ll be sure to tell him you called when he comes back. Or you can leave a note, if you wish.” This with a motion at the basket of mail on the table beside the clock. Then, contriving a frown of earnest concern: “There isn’t bad news, I hope.”

“No. Like I said, just stopped by to say hello.” Nathaniel paused. “How come you asked that?”

“Oh, something seems to have been weighing on his mind the past few days. Possibly it’s a business problem? He’s in marine insurance, I think?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s with Merrill, Chapman and Scott.”

“That’s the firm,” she answered over the bonging of the clock. It was four p.m.

“Is it near here?” asked Nathaniel.

Shrugging, she answered that she thought it was across town, on the Hudson River waterfront. The elevated railway line ran that way. They could ask the conductor or a policeman for the company’s address.

“You know, I find it so peculiar that Lockwood never mentioned you,” she went on, opening the door for them. “My husband and I make it a point to invite our long-term boarders for Sunday dinner, and Lockwood told us quite a lot about himself and about his, I should say your, father. But he never spoke a word that he had three younger brothers.”

Nathaniel didn’t like the inference, and he said, curtly: “We’re not that close.”