r. Creighton seems to be unusually sensible, but
you can never tell which way a detective will jump."

"They're worse'n cats!" agreed the old butler.

_XVIII: Some Old Men Are Out_

There was a tinkle of silver and china suggestive of the butler picking
up a tray and preparing to depart, so Creighton fled from the vicinage
as softly as the furry felines to which Bates had spitefully compared
him. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. Utterly
shameless, he reminded himself that if listeners hear no good of
themselves, they also occasionally hear much that is valuable. So
Bates and Miss Ocky were in conspiracy to conceal from him some
conversation they had had! Um. It would be funny if he couldn't pry
the truth out of one of them; mentally, he girded up his loins for the
fray.

The immediate effect of what he had overheard was an alteration in his
plans for the balance of the afternoon. He wanted to see Judge Taylor
for more than one reason, but his brief essay in eavesdropping had
served to remind him of a chore neglected nearer home. The servants.
He must question them, painstakingly and at length, on the chance that
one or more of them might have heard or noticed something that would
bring him a step closer to the truth.

Copley Varr had gone upstairs, summoned to his mother's bedside by
Janet Mackay who was temporarily in attendance on the stricken Lucy.
That left the study clear for Creighton who immediately possessed
himself of it and touched the bell for Bates. The old man appeared
presently, gave an attentive ear to the detective's brief statement of
his intentions, and answered on behalf of himself and the staff that
all would be glad to assist Mr. Creighton in every possible way.

"The main essential is perfect frankness," said the detective.

"Yes, indeed, sir, I quite understand that," said the butler, a trifle
too promptly. "It's wrong to hold anything back."

"I'll begin with the cook. I had a few words with her yesterday, just
enough to learn she's nobody's fool. She's good-hearted, too--you can
tell it by the layer of fat on the ribs of that Angora I've seen
about." Creighton's eyes were laughing behind the shell-rimmed
glasses. "Did it ever occur to you, Bates, that you can learn a lot
about the cook by looking at the cat?"

"No, sir, it never did," said Bates, smiling faintly.

"It never did to me, either, until just this minute," admitted the
detective frankly, "