“Fired this morning,” said the ex-footman curtly. “This morning? Why, it’s hardly daylight!” Thomas nodded. “Alford found me wandering about the house when I ought to have been in bed and asleep,” he said, “and he hoofed me out.” “But why?” The man was uncomfortable. “How do I know why?” he demanded. “That dog never liked me. I think he suspected me of writing to you.” Gilder knew that this story was a lie, designed to show him under an obligation to this ex-servant. Thomas had been a useful correspondent of his: all that went on at Fossaway Manor had been faithfully recorded for his information. “You are in trouble. What have you been doing?” The man pursed his lips. “Well…” he hesitated, “I may as well tell you the truth. Have you ever heard of Monkey Puttler? Wait a minute, I’ll make the tea.” He picked up the steaming kettle and filled the pot, and not till he had put it back on the hob did he continue his narrative. “Monkey Puttler’s a ‘busy.’ Every crook in London knows him, and I know him as well as anybody because he got me three years for a job I did at the Westinghouse Hotel.” “Burglary?” asked the other, to whom this was news. “An inside job,” said the other tersely. “You can call it burglary if it gives you any pleasure. Anyway, Monkey caught me and pushed me over the Alps for three long and weary ones. When I came out I got this job. There were pickings to it, too. Chelford isn’t a man who counts his change, and Alford doesn’t dare ask him what he’s done with his money when he comes for more.” “An ex-convict, eh?” Gilder was slightly shocked and regarded the man from a new angle. “I didn’t know that or I should never have employed you!” “I had to kid a bit,” confessed Thomas, with a grin. “You kidded me all right!” replied Gilder. “Well, I didn’t exactly kid you,” said the other, amused. “But that day when I went to your office and you started cross-examining me about how things were at the Manor with Gwyn, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t earn a few honest dollars.” “Well? Go on about your friend Monkey--what is his name?” “Puttler. He came yesterday.” “To Chelford’s house?” asked Gilder in surprise. “Yes,” nodded Thomas. “Alford pretended he is an accountant, but he’s a busy all right; I knew him the moment I saw him, and, what’s worse, he knew me. I’d come to Chelford’s service on a false character and I knew my number was up as soon as I saw his ugly phiz. Sure enough, last night Alford gave me notice, told me to clear out to-day. I’ll catch that bird one of these days,” he said, with an ugly look in his face. “But why this morning?” asked Gilder.