Rodolphus had locked up the library early that afternoon, sealing off the seventh floor and sending Prewett on his way. He was not a nervous man by nature, but after standing, hawk-like, at his curtains for the better part of the afternoon, he'd convinced himself that he was under surveillance. A girl lingered too long at that corner or a man had glanced too frequently; regardless of the truth or paranoia, he no longer wished to remain. He had guests to entertain that night, anyway, and a man of his nature required several hours preparatory isolation before he was willing to be social.
So, a book, a drink, and a pipe, and Rodolphus whittled away the remainder of the afternoon and early evening with a copy of the International Journal of Genealogy, Volume 33. He supped with his wife and discussed politics, resisted (barely) her temptations after dinner, and then withdrew to the sitting room, where his cousins would join him for brandy and duty. An excellent combination, if he said so himself.