“Why was that?”
“Because Martin, Mr. Millicent’s man, had already left.”
“When?” said Derrick curiously.
“Three days after Mr. Millicent died.”
Edith gave an involuntary shiver. “Why should he do that so soon?”
Perkins glanced at the portrait with a kind of mute unconsciousness. “I cannot say, madam. Martin did not tell me.”
“It’s more or less understandable,” hazarded Derrick; “probably Mrs. Millicent let him go. She wasn’t keeping on the place anyway. Do you happen to know where he went, Perkins?”
Edith looked up. “Does that matter, Jack?”
“Yes, I think so. The man’s reputation for roses spread all over the county, and I’d like to get him back if we could afford it. And it’s better to have some one who knows the ground, if possible. What about him, Perkins?”
“No one has heard of him from that day, as yet, sir.”