“I thought that Mr. Clayton might, perhaps, have mentioned something to you,” Margate observed, in an explanatory way. “He did not, Mr. Garside, sir,” said Peterson humbly. “I see there is a light in the library.” “I left it for you, Mr. Garside, sir,” Peterson explained. “I thought you might not wish to retire at once, sir, when you came in.” “That was very thoughtful, Peterson, I’m sure, but I shall presently do so. By the way, Peterson, I may be busy in my room to-morrow morning, in case Mr. Clayton gives me any work to be done at that time,” Margate added, steadily regarding his hearer. “There is something you can do for me.” “I will be very glad to do it, Mr. Garside, sir,” said Peterson, bowing obsequiously. “Very good. If Mr. Carter calls during the morning, I wish you would quietly come to my room and inform me. There are a few questions I wish to ask him about a personal matter--a purely personal matter, Peterson, I assure you.” “Yes, Mr. Garside, sir.” Peterson’s ruddy face appeared incapable of any material change. “Will you quietly do so?” “I will, Mr. Garside, sir.” “Thank you, Peterson. You are a very accommodating fellow. By the way, here is something for which I have no great use,” Margate added, producing a bank note and slipping it into the butler’s hand. “Favor me by accepting it.” Peterson smiled now, and appeared pleased. “Thank you, Mr. Garside, sir,” he said, with some feeling. “Thank you very much, sir.” “There is more, Peterson, where that came from,” Margate remarked significantly. “I hope so, sir,” smiled Peterson. “I am glad to hear it, sir.” “Any service you can do for me, Peterson, will always be well repaid.” “No doubt, sir. Really, sir, I have not a doubt of it,” Peterson vouchsafed. “By the way, what about Madame Clayton this evening?” questioned Margate, still pausing at the base of the stairs. “She is just the same, Mr. Garside, sir,” said Peterson, at once serious and solemn again. “That’s too bad.” “Too bad, sir, indeed.” “The nurse is with her to-night?” “Yes, Mr. Garside, sir.” “Favor me, Peterson, by tapping on the door and asking her to step into the hall. She gave me a prescription to be filled. I have done so and wish to hand it to her,” said Margate, displaying a vial wrapped in white paper. “I wish to say a word to her about it, something the druggist mentioned.” “I will call her, sir,” bowed Peterson. “One moment.” “Yes, sir.” “Are you coming downstairs again?” “Only to put out the lights, sir, and look after the doors.” “Do so before you go up, then,” said Margate. “That will save you the trouble of returning.” “Very well, sir,” bowed Peterson. “Thank you, sir.” Margate waited at the base of the stairs. There was a sinister gleam in his eyes, a cruel smile on his lips. He thought he had rightly sized up the butler. He felt reasonably sure that he could, if occasion required it, rely upon Peterson for almost any service for which he was liberally paid.