one with a gold clasp."

"Did he take it away with him when he went to Scotland? Did you see it
about the house after he left?"

"No, sir. I think he took it with him. It would not be like him to forget
it, or to leave it lying about."

"And what sort of a man was Sir Horace, Field?"

"A very good master, sir. He could be very stern when he was angry, but I
got on very well with him."

"Quite so. Do you know if he had a weakness for the ladies?"

"Well, sir, I've heard people say he had."

"I want your own opinion; I don't want what other people said. You
were with him for three years and kept a pretty close watch on him,
I've no doubt."

"Speaking confidentially, I might say that I think he was," said Hill.

He glanced apprehensively behind him as if afraid of the dead man
appearing at the door to rebuke him for presuming to speak ill of him.

"I thought as much," said the inspector. "Have you any idea why he came
down from Scotland?"

"No, sir."

"Well, that will do for the present, Field. If I want you again I'll
send for you."

"Thank you, sir. May I ask a question, sir?"

"What is it?"

"You don't really think I had anything to do with it, sir?"

"I'm not here, Field, to tell you what I think. This much I will say:
If I find you have tried to deceive me in any way it will be a bad
day for you."

"Yes, sir."

Grave, taciturn, watchful, secret and suave, with an appearance of
tight-lipped reticence about him which a perpetual faint questioning
look in his eyes denied, Hill looked an ideal man servant, who knew
his station in life, and was able to uphold it with meek dignity. From
the top of his trimly-cut grey crown to his neatly-shod silent feet he
exuded deference and respectability. His impassive mask of a face was
incapable--apart from the faint query note in the eyes--of betraying
any of the feelings or emotions which ruffle the countenances of
common humanity.

On the way downstairs, Hill saw Police-Constable Flack in conversation
with a lady at the front door. The lady was well-known to the butler as
Mrs. Holymead, the wife of a distinguished barrister, who had been one of
his master's closest friends. She seemed glad to see the butler, for she
greeted him with a remark that seemed to imply a kinship in sorrow.

"Isn't this a dreadful thing, Hill?" she said.

"It's terrible, madam," replied Hill respectfully.

Mrs. Holymead was extremely beautiful, but it was obvious that she was