“This is Mr. Trent, who is authorized by Mrs. Manderson to go over the house and make enquiries,” explained the detective. “He would like to hear your story.” Martin bowed distantly. He recognized Trent for a gentleman. Time would show whether he was what Martin called a gentleman in every sense of the word. “I observed you approaching the house, sir,” said Martin with impassive courtesy. He spoke with a slow and measured utterance. “My instructions are to assist you in every possible way. Should you wish me to recall the circumstances of Sunday night?” “Please,” said Trent with ponderous gravity. Martin’s style was making clamorous appeal to his sense of comedy. He banished with an effort all vivacity of expression from his face. “I last saw Mr. Manderson—” “No, not that yet,” Trent checked him quietly. “Tell me all you saw of him that evening—after dinner, say. Try to recollect every little detail.” “After dinner, sir?—yes. I remember that after dinner Mr. Manderson and Mr. Marlowe walked up and down the path through the orchard, talking. If you ask me for details, it struck me they were talking about something important, because I heard Mr. Manderson say something when they came in through the back entrance. He said, as near as I can remember, ‘If Harris is there, every minute is of importance. You want to start right away. And not a word to a soul.’ Mr. Marlowe answered, ‘Very well. I will just change out of these clothes and then I am ready’—or words to that effect. I heard this plainly as they passed the window of my pantry. Then Mr. Marlowe went up to his bedroom, and Mr. Manderson entered the library and rang for me. He handed me some letters for the postman in the morning and directed me to sit up, as Mr. Marlowe had persuaded him to go for a drive in the car by moonlight.” “That was curious,” remarked Trent. “I thought so, sir. But I recollected what I had heard about ‘not a word to a soul’, and I concluded that this about a moonlight drive was intended to mislead.” “What time was this?” “It would be about ten, sir, I should say. After speaking to me, Mr. Manderson waited until Mr. Marlowe had come down and brought round the car. He then went into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Manderson was.” “Did that strike you as curious?” Martin looked down his nose. “If you ask me the question, sir,” he said with reserve, “I had not known him enter that room since we came here this year. He preferred to sit in the library in the evenings. That evening he only remained with Mrs. Manderson for a few minutes. Then he and Mr. Marlowe started immediately.” “You saw them start?” “Yes, sir. They took the direction of Bishopsbridge.” “And you saw Mr. Manderson again later?” “After an hour or thereabouts, sir, in the library. That would have been about a quarter past eleven, I should say; I had noticed eleven striking from the church. I may say I am peculiarly quick of hearing, sir.”