"He was so kind, sir, so kind and thoughtful," he quavered. "I don't know what I shall do without him." There was in his voice something of the querulous appeal of a little child. "Were letters ever taken to the laboratory?" enquired Malcolm Sage, walking over to the window and gazing out. "Never, sir," was the reply. "Everything was kept until the professor returned to the house, even telegrams." "Then he was absolutely cut off?" said Malcolm Sage, returning to his seat. "That was what he used to say, sir, that he wanted to feel cut off from everybody and everything." "You have seen the body?" "Yes, sir." "Did you notice anything remarkable about it?" "He was more like he was some thirty years ago, sir." "Rejuvenated in fact." "I beg pardon, sir?" "He seemed to have become suddenly a much younger man?" explained Malcolm Sage. "Yes, sir. I've been with him over thirty years, and he looked very much as he did then, except, of course, that his hair remained grey." "Apart from the food not being taken in, you noticed nothing else that struck you as strange?" queried Malcolm Sage. The old man puckered up his eyebrows, as if genuinely anxious to remember something that would please the man who had shown him so much sympathy. "I can't think of anything, sir," he said at length, apologetically, "only the marmalade, and that, of course, wouldn't----" "The marmalade?" Malcolm Sage turned quickly. "It was nothing, sir," said the old man. "Perhaps I oughtn't to have mentioned it; but the morning before we found him, the master had not eaten any marmalade, and him so fond of it. I was rather worried, and I asked Mrs. Graham if it was a new brand, thinking perhaps he didn't like it; but I found it was the same he always had." For fully a minute Malcolm Sage was silent, gazing straight before him. "He never smoked?" he asked at length. "Never, sir, not during the whole thirty years I've been with him." "Who cleaned the laboratory? It did not look as if it had been unswept for a week." "No, indeed, sir," was the reply, "the professor was very particular. He always swept it up himself each morning. It was cleaned by one of the servants once a month." "You're sure about the sweeping-up?" Malcolm Sage enquired with a keen glance that with him always meant an important point. "Quite certain, sir." "That, I think, will be all." "Thank you, sir," said the butler, rising. "Thank you for being so kind, and--and understanding, sir," and he walked a little unsteadily from the room. "I was afraid you wouldn't get anything out of him, Mr. Sage," said Inspector Carfon, with just a suspicion of relief in his voice. "No," remarked Malcolm Sage quietly, "nothing new; but an important corroboration of the doctor's evidence." "What was that?" "That it was the murderer and not Professor McMurray who ate Wednesday's breakfast, luncheon and dinner." "Good Lord!" The inspector's jaw dropped in his astonishment.