“My name is Charles Michaels—sir. I am Mr. Monte Field’s valet.” The Inspector’s eyes narrowed. The man’s entire demeanor had in some intangible manner changed. His face was blank, as before, and his attitude seemed in no way different. Yet the old man sensed a metamorphosis; he glanced quickly at Ellery and saw a confirmation of his own thought in his son’s eyes. “Is that so?” inquired the Inspector steadily. “Valet, eh? And where are you going at this hour of the morning with that traveling-bag?” He jerked his hand toward the suit-case, a cheap black affair, which Piggott had picked up in the foyer and carried into the living-room. Ellery suddenly strolled away in the direction of the foyer. He bent over to pick up something. “Sir?” Michaels seemed upset by the question. “That’s mine, sir,” he confided. “I was just going away this morning on my vacation and I’d arranged with Mr. Field to come here for my salary-check before I left.” The old man’s eyes sparkled. He had it! Michaels’s expression and general bearing had remained unchanged; but his voice and enunciation were markedly different. “So you arranged to get your check from Mr. Field this morning?” murmured the Inspector. “That’s mighty funny now, come to think of it.” Michaels permitted a fleeting amazement to scud across his features. “Why—why, where is Mr. Field?” he asked. “‘Massa’s in de cold, cold ground,’” chuckled Ellery, from the foyer. He stepped back into the living-room, flourishing the newspaper which Michaels had dropped during the fracas with Piggott. “Really, now, old chap, that’s a bit thick, you know. Here is the morning paper you brought in with you. And the first thing I see as I pick it up is the nice black headline describing Mr. Field’s little accident. Smeared over the entire front-page. And—er, you failed to see the story?” Michaels stared stonily at Ellery and the paper. But his eyes fell as he mumbled, “I didn’t get the opportunity of reading the paper this morning, sir. What has happened to Mr. Field?” The Inspector snorted. “Field’s been killed, Michaels, and you knew it all the time.” “But I didn’t, I tell you, sir,” objected the valet respectfully. “Stop lying!” rapped Queen. “Tell us why you’re here or you’ll get plenty of opportunity to talk behind bars!” Michaels regarded the old man patiently. “I’ve told you the truth, sir,” he said. “Mr. Field told me yesterday that I was to come here this morning for my check. That’s all I know.” “You were to meet him here?” “Yes, sir.” “Then why did you forget to ring the bell? Used a key as if you didn’t expect to find any one here, my man,” said Queen. “The bell?” The valet opened his eyes wide. “I always use my key, sir. Never disturb Mr. Field if I can help it.” “Why didn’t Field give you a check yesterday?” barked the Inspector. “He didn’t have his check-book handy, I think, sir.”