Johnston read Ives"s letter, chomping on a large, unlit cigar whilst Simms sat opposite him in silence.
When he finished, Johnston rocked back in his chair and slowly pulled out a small metal box, out of which he produced a match. He struck it along the side of the box and it flared up. He touched the flame to the cigar. He puffed away for some considerable time, rolling the thick cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other before he took it from between his teeth and studied the glowing end.
“How did you find him?”
“Find him? I"m not sure I—”
“His demeanor. Was he confused, scatty, incoherent?”
“None of those things.”
“Are you sure? This,” he came forward, picked up the letter and wafted it in front of Simms, “was he in sound mind when he wrote it?”
“I believe so.”
“Was he dru
