“Did you ring, sergeant? Is there anything you require?” “This is Inspector Humblethorne, Fairlie,” answered the sergeant; “he wishes to see Mr. Castle. Not in here—in the hall.” “Mr. Castle is in the study; I will acquaint him with your wishes,” said Fairlie, acknowledging the introduction by turning his body slightly towards Humblethorne and preparing to go. “One moment,” interrupted Humblethorne. “You’re the butler, aren’t you?” “I am.” “You have been here a long time?” “That is so.” “I shall want to ask you a few questions after I have seen Mr. Castle.” “I shall be happy, h’only too happy to place myself at your disposal,” replied Fairlie, allowing a faint undercurrent of human interest to show for the first time through the dignity of his demeanour. “Her ladyship and Miss Celia are upset, naturally upset, if I may say so, at the terrible event in the house, and I have had no orders; but I am sure her ladyship would wish me to help you to the best of my abilities and to offer you every opportunity for arriving at the truth.” “Thank you,” answered Humblethorne meekly, and Fairlie withdrew. “Not quite the man you would expect Sir Roger to have had as butler,” remarked Humblethorne; “altogether too old-fashioned and superior.” “Yes, he came with her ladyship. He’s a bit slow, no doubt, but he has a warm heart, has old Fairlie, and many’s the kind thing he’s done for the people in the village. Now Sir Roger didn’t care a rap of his fingers for the village.” “He certainly does not seem to have been a popular figure.” “Popular? Him popular?” The sergeant gave a short laugh which, in deference to the dead man beside him, he tried to turn into a cough. “Mr. Castle is in the hall,” said Fairlie, opening the door quietly. The appearance of Philip Castle had not been improved by the tragic events of the night; he was dressed in the same dark suit which he had worn the previous day, but the neatness had gone from it; his tie was badly tied and his collar was dirty. He still wore evening socks and shoes, and it looked as if his changing had been a hasty and casual affair. His stoop as he walked restlessly up and down on the further side of the hall was accentuated and his pallor increased, whilst his eyes, though still clear and bright, had a haggard as well as a tired look. He glanced irritably at Humblethorne as he approached, and then seemed to look past him at the closing door with a nervous movement. “Well!” he exclaimed, “I understand you want to ask me some more questions about this horrible business, and here of all places. I’ve already told you what I know, and I don’t think you quite realize how unpleasant it is for me to talk about it.” “Murder is an unpleasant business,” replied Humblethorne calmly. “It is the duty of every one to do what they can to help.” “I know. You must excuse a little irritation! I’ve been up all night.”