“Didn’t you go in and speak to the Colonel?”
“Oh no! He’s a constant visitor here, has been on very friendly terms with my father ever since we came here. I never feel on ‘company manners’ with him.”
“Any idea what time the Colonel left?”
“No—Butterworth could probably tell you.”
“Butterworth’s the butler, isn’t he? And the secretary’s name is Llewellyn? How long have they been with you?”
“Butterworth came into my father’s service when we were living at Washington. He was butler to Sir Julian Kennedy, the British Ambassador at Washington at that time. When Sir Julian died—about fifteen years ago I should say—speaking from memory—my father offered him employment. My father”—his voice broke a trifle—the realization that his father was dead was becoming more poignant to him as time passed—“regarded him as invaluable.”
“And Mr. Llewellyn? How long has he been with your father?”
“About two years. He came to us when we were in New York.”
“The butler’s wife—you said just now, I think—acts as housekeeper?”
“Yes. There are four maids here, also.”