There was a writing table with note paper on it in one corner of the
room, and as she finished speaking a scrap of crumpled paper on the
floor beneath it caught her eye. With instinctive neatness she went
across the room and picked it up, steadying herself as she stooped by
resting her fingertips lightly on the pile of paper.

"Is there anything more, sir?"

"Thank you, no," replied Creighton absently.

When she had closed the door behind her he went over by the writing
table and stood looking down at the topmost sheet of paper. The maid's
orderly spirit had given him a hint that he thought he might profitably
employ. He picked up the paper and held it slantwise to the light of
the window while he peered at its surface. Then he nodded contentedly.

He drew forth his pencil and made a neat number one at the top of the
sheet, which he then dropped in a drawer of the desk. He found a clean
page in a small memo-book that he carried and made a careful entry, "1.
Betty Blake."

"I'll get 'em all before I finish," he promised himself.

He went downstairs a few minutes later to meet the butler on his way up
with the announcement that dinner was served; a welcome piece of news
to a man who had had a long day on sandwiches only.

"Just the two of us," Miss Ocky greeted him as he entered the
dining-room. "I'll pay you the compliment of admitting that the
arrangement suits me perfectly. A crowd would have been terrible, but
to have dined by myself would have been ghastly."

"Nothing could have pleased me better," said the detective as they
seated themselves. "It has been growing increasingly clear to me that
I must look to you for a great deal of information. Yours is the most
authoritative voice around here."

"I'll play oracle within reason."

"Um. Don't let's start off with a reservation like that, Miss Copley.
You made a naive, but very wise, remark this afternoon when you said
you might just as well tell me something, especially as I was bound to
find it out anyway. Stick to that maxim. It will save me time and you
trouble."

"Mmph!" said Miss Ocky.

"About there only being two of us for dinner," continued the detective,
blandly ignoring the sniff, "there's a matter I'd like to clear up.
Where is Mr. Varr's son? Was the trouble between them so bitter that
it is to be perpetuated after death?"

"I couldn't bring myself to speak about that until we were by
ourselves," said Miss Ocky. She looked up