"Let's meet him outside and bring him in through the kitchen," Donovan said.
They went back to the cobblestone driveway that separated the mansion from the stable--still so called, although it had been converted to a five-car garage--as a Cadillac limousine, bristling with shortwave radio antennae, rolled majestically in.
There were two neatly dressed young men in the front seat, one of whom jumped out to open the door the instant the car stopped.
J. Edgar Hoover, the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, got out.
"Hello, Edgar," Donovan said.
"I'm glad you could find the time."
"It's always a pleasure, Bill," Hoover said, firmly shaking his hand. He nodded curtly to Captain Douglass.
"Douglass," he said.
"Mr. Director," Douglass said.
"And you know Miss Hoche, I believe, Edgar?"
Hoover beamed.
"How nice to see you, my dear," he said.
"And how is your father?" Before Charity could open her mouth, he went on, "You be sure to give both your mother and father my kindest regards."
"Of course," Charity said.
"Would you like a little belt, Edgar?" Donovan asked.
"Or would you rather go right in to dinner?"
"This is one of those days when I would dearly like a little taste," Hoover said, "and just don't have the time."
"Well, we'll give you a rain check," Donovan said.
"I'm trying to be very nice to you, Edgar."
"That sounds as if you want something," Hoover said, jovially, as they entered the house through the kitchen.
"Actually," Donovan said, "I was hoping you might have a contact with the state police in Virginia."
"I can probably help," Hoover said.
"What is it you need?"
"You know somebody that can fix a speeding ticket?" Donovan asked.
Hoover looked at him in genuine surprise.
"Seventy-three-point-six in a thirty-five-mile zone," Donovan said, straight faced
"The cop said that we'd probably lose our C-ration sticker, too."
Hoover smiled.
"Darn you, Bill," he said.
"You really had me going there for a minute."