Tredwell paused for a minute or two and then, seeing that Bundle had finished, he quietly left the room. Bundle remained lost in thought.
John had opened the door to her on her arrival that day, and she had taken particular notice of him without seeming to do so. Apparently, he was the perfect servant, well trained, with an expressionless face. He had, perhaps, a more soldierly bearing than most footmen and there was something a little odd about the shape of the back of his head.
But these details, as Bundle realized, were hardly relevant to the situation. She sat frowning down at the blotting paper in front of her. She had a pencil in her hand and was idly tracing the name Bower over and over again.
Suddenly an idea struck her and she stopped dead, staring at the word. Then she summoned Tredwell once more.
"Tredwell, how is the name Bower spelt?"
"B-A-U-E-R, my lady."
"That's not an English name."
"I believe he is of Swiss extraction, my lady."
"Oh! That's all, Tredwell, thank you."
Swiss extraction? No. German! That martial carriage, that flat back to the head. And he had come to Chimneys a fortnight before Gerry Wade's death.