“I think not, sir. She is just the same, sir. This way, sir.” He was a sedate, punctilious fellow, this Peterson, with a very florid face and mutton-chop whiskers, a man apparently of middle age and with an exalted appreciation of the functions of his position. One would have said with a glance, in fact, that Peterson had spent the best years of his life in the service of people of quality. Nick followed him to the library, where Mr. Chester Clayton was awaiting him. “Mr. Carter, sir,” said Peterson, on the threshold. “You may close the door, Peterson,” said Clayton, waving the detective to a chair. Peterson withdrew and the door closed upon his red face and rigid figure. “Don’t rise, Clayton,” said Nick, while he shook hands with him. “You look pale this evening, more pale than when I saw you on the night of the crime. I venture to say you have lost thirty pounds since I lunched with you something like four months ago.” “All of that, Nick,” said Clayton, smiling a bit wearily. “I have lost all I took on during the six months following my marriage. I seem to be slipping downhill on greased rollers. What more have you learned about this terrible business?” “Nothing worthy of mention,” Nick replied. “I still am much in the dark. Peterson tells me there is no improvement in your mother’s condition.” “No, none whatever,” Clayton said sadly. “She lies hour after hour like a woman in a trance. We have tried in vain to arouse her, or to evoke some sign of recognition. She----” “We will talk of her a little later,” Nick interposed. “Tell me, instead, Clayton, how long you have been on the down grade. When did you first detect this change in your health?” “About three months ago, Nick, as near as I can tell.” “Did you consult a physician at that time?” “Yes. I have tried several since then, moreover, but without deriving any benefit. I have been running down and losing flesh in spite of all they can do.” “Mr. Garside, your private secretary, tells me that you have not been going to your office for some little time.” “Only occasionally. I have not felt able to do so. That is why I made Mr. Garside one of my household, or, rather, his predecessor, who resigned his position several weeks ago. I found it necessary to transact much of my business at home, and the aid of a private secretary was imperative.” “I see,” Nick nodded. “Who, by the way, was Mr. Garside’s predecessor?” “His name is John Dunbar. He was formerly a clerk in our office.” “Previous to becoming your private secretary?” “Yes.” “Has he resumed his former position?” “No. I don’t know what has become of him.” “Why did he resign from your employ?” “He said he intended to go West,” Clayton explained. “I think he may have done so, having seen him only once since he ended our relations.” “When was that?” “A day or two later. He called here to introduce Mr. Garside, whom he recommended very highly, and whom I had consented to employ on trial.”