years, Sergeant."
"And you state," pursued the Sergeant, consulting Glass's notes, "that you last saw your master alive at about 9 p.m., when you showed a Mr. Abraham Budd into this room. Is that correct?"
"Yes, Sergeant. I have the person's card here," said Simmons, holding out a piece of pasteboard.
The Sergeant took it, and read aloud: "Mr. Abraham Budd, 333c Bishopsgate, EC. Well, we know where he's to be found, that's one thing. You state that he wasn't known to you, I see."
"I never laid eyes on the individual before in my life, Sergeant. He was not the type of person I have been in the habit of admitting to the house," said Simmons haughtily.
Glass dispelled this pharisaical attitude with one devastating pronouncement. "Though the Lord be high, yet hath he respect unto the lowly," he said in minatory accents, "but the proud he knoweth afar off."
"My soul is humbled in me," apologised Simmons.
"Never mind about your soul!" said the Sergeant impatiently. "And don't take any notice of Glass! You listen to me! Can you describe this Budd's appearance?"
"Oh yes, Sergeant! A short, stout person in a suit which I should designate as on the loud side, and a bowler hat. I fancy he is of the Jewish persuasion."
"Short and stout!" said the Sergeant, disappointed. "Sounds to me like a tout. Did the deceased expect a visit from him?"
"I hardly think so. Mr. Budd stated that his business was urgent, and I was constrained to take his card to Mr. Fletcher. My impression was that Mr. Fletcher was considerably annoyed."
"Do you mean scared?"
"Oh no, Sergeant! Mr. Fletcher spoke of "damned impertinence", but after a moment he told me to show Mr. Budd in, which I did."
"And that was at 9 p.m., or thereabouts? Did you hear any sounds of altercation?"
The butler hesitated. "I wouldn't say altercation, Sergeant. The master's voice was upraised once or twice, but I didn't hear what he said, me being in the dining-room, across the hall, until I withdrew to my pantry."
"You wouldn't say that a quarrel took place between them?"
"No, Sergeant. Mr. Budd did not strike me as a quarrelsome person. In fact, the reverse. I got the impression he was afraid of the master."
"Afraid of him, eh? Was Mr. Fletcher a bad-tempered man?"
"Dear me, no, Sergeant! A very pleasant-spoken gentleman, usually. It was very seldom I saw him putout."
"But was he put-out tonight? By Mr. Budd's call?"
The butler hesitated. "Before that, I fancy, Sergeant. I believe Mr. Fletcher had a - a slight difference with Mr. Neville, just before dinner."
"Mr. Neville? That's the nephew? Does he live here?"
"No. Mr. Neville arrived this afternoon to stay with his uncle for a few days, I understand."
"Was he expected?"
"If he was, I was not apprised of it. I should mention, in fairness to Mr. Neville, that he is - if I may say so - a somewhat eccentric young gentleman. It is by no means an unusual occurrence for him to arrive here without warning."
"And this difference with his uncle: was that usual?"
"I should not like to give a false impression, Sergeant: there wasn't any quarrel, if you understand me. All I know is that when I took sherry and cocktails to the drawing-room before dinner it seemed to me that I had interrupted an altercation. The master looked to be distinctly annoyed, which was a rare thing, in my experience, and I did hear him say, just as I came in, that he wanted to hear no more about it, and Mr. Neville could go to hell."
"Oh! And what about Mr. Neville? Was he annoyed?"
"I shouldn't like to say, Sergeant. Mr. Neville is a peculiar young gentleman, not given to showing what he feels, if he feels anything, which I sometimes doubt."
"Well I do, frequently," said Neville, who had come into the room in time to hear this remark.
The Sergeant, unaccustomed to young Mr. Fletcher's noiseless way of entering rooms, was momentarily startled. Neville smiled in his deprecating fashion, and said softly: 'Good-evening. Isn't it shocking? I do hope
"And you state," pursued the Sergeant, consulting Glass's notes, "that you last saw your master alive at about 9 p.m., when you showed a Mr. Abraham Budd into this room. Is that correct?"
"Yes, Sergeant. I have the person's card here," said Simmons, holding out a piece of pasteboard.
The Sergeant took it, and read aloud: "Mr. Abraham Budd, 333c Bishopsgate, EC. Well, we know where he's to be found, that's one thing. You state that he wasn't known to you, I see."
"I never laid eyes on the individual before in my life, Sergeant. He was not the type of person I have been in the habit of admitting to the house," said Simmons haughtily.
Glass dispelled this pharisaical attitude with one devastating pronouncement. "Though the Lord be high, yet hath he respect unto the lowly," he said in minatory accents, "but the proud he knoweth afar off."
"My soul is humbled in me," apologised Simmons.
"Never mind about your soul!" said the Sergeant impatiently. "And don't take any notice of Glass! You listen to me! Can you describe this Budd's appearance?"
"Oh yes, Sergeant! A short, stout person in a suit which I should designate as on the loud side, and a bowler hat. I fancy he is of the Jewish persuasion."
"Short and stout!" said the Sergeant, disappointed. "Sounds to me like a tout. Did the deceased expect a visit from him?"
"I hardly think so. Mr. Budd stated that his business was urgent, and I was constrained to take his card to Mr. Fletcher. My impression was that Mr. Fletcher was considerably annoyed."
"Do you mean scared?"
"Oh no, Sergeant! Mr. Fletcher spoke of "damned impertinence", but after a moment he told me to show Mr. Budd in, which I did."
"And that was at 9 p.m., or thereabouts? Did you hear any sounds of altercation?"
The butler hesitated. "I wouldn't say altercation, Sergeant. The master's voice was upraised once or twice, but I didn't hear what he said, me being in the dining-room, across the hall, until I withdrew to my pantry."
"You wouldn't say that a quarrel took place between them?"
"No, Sergeant. Mr. Budd did not strike me as a quarrelsome person. In fact, the reverse. I got the impression he was afraid of the master."
"Afraid of him, eh? Was Mr. Fletcher a bad-tempered man?"
"Dear me, no, Sergeant! A very pleasant-spoken gentleman, usually. It was very seldom I saw him putout."
"But was he put-out tonight? By Mr. Budd's call?"
The butler hesitated. "Before that, I fancy, Sergeant. I believe Mr. Fletcher had a - a slight difference with Mr. Neville, just before dinner."
"Mr. Neville? That's the nephew? Does he live here?"
"No. Mr. Neville arrived this afternoon to stay with his uncle for a few days, I understand."
"Was he expected?"
"If he was, I was not apprised of it. I should mention, in fairness to Mr. Neville, that he is - if I may say so - a somewhat eccentric young gentleman. It is by no means an unusual occurrence for him to arrive here without warning."
"And this difference with his uncle: was that usual?"
"I should not like to give a false impression, Sergeant: there wasn't any quarrel, if you understand me. All I know is that when I took sherry and cocktails to the drawing-room before dinner it seemed to me that I had interrupted an altercation. The master looked to be distinctly annoyed, which was a rare thing, in my experience, and I did hear him say, just as I came in, that he wanted to hear no more about it, and Mr. Neville could go to hell."
"Oh! And what about Mr. Neville? Was he annoyed?"
"I shouldn't like to say, Sergeant. Mr. Neville is a peculiar young gentleman, not given to showing what he feels, if he feels anything, which I sometimes doubt."
"Well I do, frequently," said Neville, who had come into the room in time to hear this remark.
The Sergeant, unaccustomed to young Mr. Fletcher's noiseless way of entering rooms, was momentarily startled. Neville smiled in his deprecating fashion, and said softly: 'Good-evening. Isn't it shocking? I do hope
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