Belford nodded. “You’re right, sir,” he muttered. “It’s—it’s my wife, sir. Been very ill, she has. And is still. I was goin’ to ask the master to ’elp me; but when it come to the point, I couldn’t. That’s why I was after pinchin’, sir. I would ’ave asked ’im, I would reely, sir; but I knew he’d ask Miss Hoode about it, and that’d ’ave made it ’opeless. You see, sir, the missus was in service here before we was married—and, well, sir, she ’ad—’ad to leave in a nurry. And through me! You understand, sir—our nipper——” He broke off, looking up appealingly. “We’re very fond of each other, sir,” he finished. “And it’s ’ard to see ’er so ill like!” “How much d’you want?” Anthony felt for his note-case. “Here, you’d better have twenty now. And I’ll fix you up properly to-morrow. Now, for God’s sake, man, pull yourself together!” he added sharply. For Belford’s shrivelled, sharp-featured little face was working in a way which was not good to see. Gratitude is sometimes more terrible to watch than baser emotions. Anthony thrust the notes into one limp hand and beat hurried retreat. Belford stood where he was left. His lips moved soundlessly. The banknotes in his hand crackled as the stubby fingers clenched upon them. Presently he raised his head and looked with blurred vision along the path through the trees. “Gawd!” he said, the refinement of the servants’ hall now completely gone. “Gawd! What a bloke! What a _bloody_ good bloke!” Anthony took the terrace steps three at a time. He was elated. The elation was short-lived; before he had reached the house, despair had taken its place. After all, this playing at detectives was foolery. Why, such a day as this, with its hot, clean peace, its drowsiness, its little scented breeze—was it not a day for a lover to lie at the feet of his mistress? Was it not a day for hot, sun-warmed kisses? He shook himself, laughing bitterly. “Affectioned ass!” he said to himself. Sir Arthur came out of the house. “Lovely day, Gethryn. Early, aren’t you?” “It is and I am. I am also a detective of the greatest. Do I look it?” Sir Arthur grew eager. “What d’you mean? Have you got anything? Found out anything important?” Anthony nodded. “Yes, twice.” “But what, man? What?” “One, the butler suffers from hay-fever. Two, the murder was committed at as near eleven o’clock as I am to you.” “Damn it all, Gethryn,” said the elder man, “I don’t think it’s quite fair to pull my leg like that. Not about this. I don’t really!” “You’re right, it isn’t. I’m sorry.” Anthony was contrite. “But you know, I’m not as silly as I sound. You must think I’m telling you things you knew before; but I’m not really. What I think these things mean, I’m not going to say just yet. Not to any one.” “I see. That’s all right, Gethryn. You must forgive me if I seem touchy.” Sir Arthur smiled forgivingly. “Seen Deacon lately?” Anthony asked. “This morning. In fact, I’ve just come back. He’s wonderful, that boy!”