CHAPTER XX

Jim Trafford looked down at the perfectly appointed table before the fire in the study at Brick House. The fat silver water kettle faithfully and shiningly reflected each tiniest spurt of flame. The Canton cups and saucers of his grandmother’s day neutralized the modernity of the mushroom sandwiches which Sarah Beddle knew he particularly liked. The feast was set but where was Julie? The old clock caught its breath and boomed: “One! Two! Three! Four! Five!” Trafford crossed to the French window. Seen through the fo…