“He will, Thomas--he will,” said the detective gently, and with murder in his eyes the footman slunk out of the room. Mr. Puttler came downstairs purring with satisfaction. “Are you sure that is my room, Mr. Alford?” he asked. “Not expecting the Prince of Wales, are you? I’ve always been ambitious to sleep in a four-poster bed.… Now, Mr. Alford.” “First of all, I must introduce you to my brother. By the way, he is rather of a nervous disposition, and I’ve told him that you’re a member of an accountancy firm who has come down to help me with my books.” Mr. Puttler expressed his agreement with this mild form of deception. He was taken to the big library and formally introduced. Harry Chelford was so used to the advent of Dick’s extraordinary guests that he saw nothing unusual in the appearance of the simian Puttler. Happily, he was near-sighted, and though it was a startling experience to find himself shaking hands across a very broad desk, which an ordinary man could not have spanned, he did not realize the cause of the phenomenon. Dick entertained accountants, land agents, an occasional bailiff or two, so that there was no novelty in the invitation. Learned-looking strangers came to his table from time to time and were introduced and passed out of his mind. “He will be staying six weeks,” Dick had told him, “and you mustn’t object to his prowling round the place, because I want to get a true valuation of the estate, and he has his own peculiar methods.” “You might get him to price the Black Abbot,” said Harry, half dourly, half amused. “What we want, Dick, is not so much a valuer as a good policeman.” Dick Alford thought that the coming guest might fulfil both functions, but he did not say so. He ushered his visitor back to his own little office, carefully closed the door and sat down at his desk. “Now, make yourself comfortable. Do you smoke?” Mr. Puttler fumbled in his pocket and produced a black pipe. “It’s not very aristocratic,” he apologized, “but I prefer ’bacca to cigars and cigarettes.” “I’ll join you,” said Dick. His study had two doors: one that opened into the hall and one into a side corridor running back to the housekeeper’s room. The two men had been talking for ten minutes, though, as far as Mr. Puttler was concerned, his contribution to the discourse was limited to an occasional question, when Thomas came noiselessly down the side corridor, peeped into the hall, and walked back to the study door. There was a look of apprehension upon his lean and shapeless face which was not without cause. Stooping, he put his eye to the keyhole. He could just see the end of the settee and the head and shoulders of the strange visitor. He was holding something in his hand--a white-handled knife, and was examining it with curiosity. Thomas bent his head and pressed his ear against the hole.