Smith shook his head. “No. This job was done in a hurry. It had to be. The killer couldn’t trust to luck.” He turned to the policeman. “Where are the servants?” For answer the policeman led us through the reception-room down a long corridor and into the servants’ quarters. In the huge kitchen we found fully fifteen domestics huddled in whispering groups. There were five Jamaica blacks, two Japanese, one of them my scowling steward, several half-caste Cubans, a disdainful English butler who stood in solitary glory in a corner of his own, and a rotund and rosy-cheeked French chef who even now was ogling a pretty half-caste maid. At our entrance they all became silent. Smith singled out the English butler for his first witness. His name was Rodney Brandlock. He was perhaps forty, rather thin, with watery blue eyes inclined to squint. He had been engaged only a few weeks ago by Mrs. Breese. It developed that it was he who had discovered Mrs. Breese’s body and had summoned the policeman from his post. “Tell us exactly what happened,” Smith commanded. “After dinner,” he began, “Mrs. Breese and Mr. Thomas adjourned to the drawing-room for coffee. The two children went immediately upstairs.” “What time was dinner?” Smith interrupted. “Dinner tonight was at nine. We had no set hour. In any case, I brought coffee and liqueurs into the drawing-room. I returned about fifteen minutes later to remove the cups and glasses. Mrs. Breese and Mr. Thomas were chatting.” “About what?” “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I didn’t stop to listen.” There was reproof in the servant’s eyes. “In any case, I removed the tray and just as I did so, the telephone rang. I answered it.--It was for Mrs. Breese from Mr. Rice.” “Where was Mr. Rice?” “I believe he was dining at the American Ministry. He wished to speak to Mrs. Breese. I gave the receiver to Mrs. Breese and went on my way down to the pantry. I happened to look at the clock at that time, and I noted it was exactly half-past ten. I thought of taking a walk for a bit of fresh air, and I returned to the drawing-room to ask Mrs. Breese if there would be anything further she wanted for the night. When I got in----” “Go ahead!” Smith commanded. “I--I found the room dark.” The butler’s voice was husky. “I--I couldn’t understand that, but I put up the lights, and then I saw----” he swallowed. “So I ran upstairs and----” “Yes----” “I found Mr. Thomas in the corridor, and I told him. Then I ran out for a policeman. I guess that’s all.” Smith nodded. “You sent for a doctor?” “--I didn’t. I leaned over and saw that Mrs. Breese was dead, and Mr. Thomas didn’t say anything. He seemed terribly shocked.” “But didn’t it occur to you that you ought to send for a doctor?” “Yes, I did think of it, but Mr. Thomas instructed me to fetch a policeman, and I did. And as I say, there was no question Mrs. Breese was dead. Then when I got back, the children were down, and it was out of my hands.”