George signified his assent. The superintendent rang the bell. Tredwell answered it, and departed with his instructions.
He returned shortly accompanied by a tall fair man with high cheek-bones, and very deep-set blue eyes, and an impassivity of countenance which almost rivalled Battle’s.
“Boris Anchoukoff?”
“Yes.”
“You were valet to Prince Michael?”
“I was His Highness’s valet, yes.”
The man spoke good English, though with a markedly harsh foreign accent.
“You know that your master was murdered last night?”
A deep snarl, like the snarl of a wild beast, was the man’s only answer. It alarmed George, who withdrew prudently towards the window.
“When did you see your master last?”