'He had a conversation with his wife on going to bed. But for that, the
manservant, Martin by name, last saw him in this room. I had his story last
night, and very glad he was to tell it. An affair like this is meat and drink
to the servants of the house.'

Trent considered for some moments, gazing through the open window over the
sun- flooded slopes. 'Would it bore you to hear what he has to say again?' he
asked at length. For reply, Mr. Murch rang the bell. A spare, clean-shaven,
middle- aged man, having the servant's manner in its most distinguished form,
answered it.

'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.'