He came up the brick driveway and mounted the steps that ran up to the door, and while he was still on the steps, the door came open and a man in livery stepped aside to let him in.
«You are a little late, sir,» said the man. «We had expected you some time ago. The others waited for you, but just now went in to dinner, thinking you had been unavoidably detained. Your place is waiting for you.»
Latimer hesitated.
«It is quite all right, sir,» said the man. «Except on special occasions, we do not dress for dinner. You’re all right as you are.»
The hall was lit by short candles set in sconces on the wall. Paintings also hung there, and small sofas and a few chairs were lined along the wall.
From the dining room came the sound of conversation.
The butler closed the door and started down the hall. «If you would follow me, sir.»
It was all insane, of course. It could not be happening. It was something he imagined. He was standing out there, on the bricks of the driveway, with the forest and the hooting owls behind him, imagining that he was here, in this dimly lighted hallway with the talk and laughter coming from the dining room.
«Sir,» said the butler, «if you please.»
«But, I don’t understand. This place, an hour ago …»
«The others are all waiting for you. They have been looking forward to you. You must not keep them waiting.»
«All right, then,» said Latimer. «I shall not keep them waiting.»
At the entrance to the dining room, the butler stood aside so that he could enter.
The others were seated at a long, elegantly appointed table. The chandelier blazed with burning tapers. Uniformed serving maids stood against one wall. A sideboard gleamed with china and cut glass. There were bouquets of flowers upon the table.
A man dressed in a green sports shirt and a corduroy jacket rose from the table and motioned to him.
«Latimer, over here,» he said. «You are Latimer, are you not?»
«Yes, I’m Latimer.»
«Your place is over here, between Enid and myself. We’ll not bother with introductions now. We can do that later on.»
Scarcely feeling his feet making contact with the floor, moving in a mental haze, Latimer went down the table. The man who stood had remained standing, thrusting out a beefy hand. Latimer took it and the other’s handshake was warm and solid.
«I’m Underwood,» he said. «Here, sit down. Don’t stand on formality. We’ve just started on the soup. If yours is cold, we can have another brought to you.»
«Thank you,» said Latimer. «I’m sure it’s all right.»
On the other side of him, Enid said, «We waited for you. We knew that you were coming, but you took so long.»
«Some,» said Underwood, «take longer than others. It’s just the way it goes.»
«But I don’t understand,» said Latimer. «I don’t know what’s going on.»
«You will,» said Underwood. «There’s really nothing to it.»
«Eat your soup,» Enid urged. «It is really good. We get such splendid chowder here.»
She was small and dark of hair and eyes, a strange intensity in her.
Latimer lifted the spoon and dipped it in the soup. Enid was right; it was a splendid chowder.
The man across the table said, «I’m Charlie. We’ll talk later on. We’ll answer any questions.»
The woman sitting beside Charlie said, «You see, we don’t understand it, either. But it’s all right. I’m Alice.»
The maids were removing some of the soup bowls and bringing on the salads. On the sideboard the china and cut glass sparkled in the candlelight.
The flowers on the table were peonies. There were, with himself, eight people seated at the table.
«You see,» said Latimer, «I only came to look at the house.»
«That’s the way,» said Underwood, «that it happened to the rest of us. Not just recently. Years apart. Although I don’t know how many years. Jonathon, down there at the table’s end, that old fellow with a beard, was the first of us. The others straggled in.»
«The house,» said Enid, «is a trap, very neatly baited. We are mice caught in a trap.»
From across the table, Alice said, «She makes it sound so dreadful. It’s not that way at all. We are taken care of meticulously. There is a staff that cooks our food and serves it, that makes our beds, that keeps all clean and neat …»
«But who would want to trap us?»
«That,» said Underwood, «is the question we all try to solve—except for one or two of us, who have become resigned. But, although there are several theories, there is no solution. I sometimes ask myself what difference it makes. Would we feel any better if we knew our trappers?»
A trap neatly baited, Latimer thought, and indeed it had been. There had been that instantaneous, instinctive attraction that the house had held for him—even only driving past it, the attraction had reached out for him.
The salad was excellent, and so were the steak and baked potato. The rice pudding was the best Latimer had ever eaten. In spite of himself, he found that he was enjoying the meal, the bright and witty chatter that flowed all around the table.
In the drawing room, once dinner was done, they sat in front of a fire in the great marble fireplace.
«Even in the summer,» said Enid, «when night come on, it gets chilly here. I’m glad it does, because I love a fire. We have a fire almost every night.»
«We?» said Latimer. «You speak as if you were a tribe.»
«A band,» she said. «A gang, perhaps. Fellow conspirators, although there’s no conspiracy. We get along together. That’s one thing that is so nice about it. We get along so well.»
The man with the beard came over to Latimer. «My name is Jonathon,» he said. «We were too far apart at dinner to become acquainted.»
«I am told,» said Latimer, «that you are the one who has been here the longest.»
«I am now,» said Jonathon. «Up until a couple of years ago, it was Peter. Old Pete, we used to call him.»
«Used to?»
«He died,» said Enid. «That’s how come there was room for you. There is only so much room in this house, you see.»
«You mean it took two years to find someone to replace him.»
«I have a feeling,» said Jonathon, «that we belong to a select company. I would think that you might have to possess rather rigid qualifications before you were considered.»
«That’s what puzzles me,» said Latimer. «There must be some common factor in the group. The kind of work we’re in, perhaps.»
«I am sure of it,» said Jonathon. «You are a painter, are you not?»
Latimer nodded. «Enid is a poet,» said Jonathon, «and a very good one. I aspire to philosophy, although I’m not too good at it. Dorothy is a novelist and Alice a musician—a pianist. Not only does she play, but she can compose as well. You haven’t met Dorothy or Jane as yet.»
«No. I think I know who they are, but I haven’t met them.»
«You will,» said Enid, «before the evening’s over. Our group is so small we get to know one another well.»
«Could I get a drink for you?» asked Jonathon.
«I would appreciate it. Could it be Scotch, by any chance?»
«It could be,» said Jonathon, «anything you want. Ice or water?»
«Ice, if you would. But I feel I am imposing.»
«No one imposes here,» said Jonathon. «We take care of one another.»
«And if you don’t mind,» said Enid, «one for me as well. You know what I want.»
As Jonathon walked away to get the drinks, Latimer said to Enid, «I must say that you’ve all been kind to me. You took me in, a stranger …»