"How long have you known him, Parks?"
"He's been with Mr. Vantine about five years. I don't know much about him; he's a silent kind of fellow, keeping to hisself a good deal and sort of brooding over things. But he did his work all right, except once in a while when he keeled over like he did to-night."
"Parks," I said, suddenly, "I'm going to ask you a question. You know that Mr. Vantine was a friend of mine, and I thought a great deal of him. Now, what with this story Rogers tells, and one or two other things, there is talk of a woman. Is there any foundation for talk of that kind?"
"No, sir," said Parks, emphatically. "I've been Mr. Vantine's valet for eight years and more, and in all that time he has never been mixed up with a woman in any shape or form. I always fancied he'd loved a lady who died—I don't know what made me think so; but anyhow, since I've known him, he never looked at a woman—not in that way."
"Thank you, Parks," I said, with a sigh of relief. "I've been through so much to-day, that I felt I couldn't endure that; and now—"
"Beg pardon, sir," said a voice at my elbow; "we have everything ready, sir."
I turned with a start to see a little, clean-shaven man standing there, rubbing his hands softly together and gazing blandly up at me.
"The undertaker's assistant, sir," explained Parks, seeing my look of astonishment. "He came while you and Mr. Godfrey were in the music-room. Dr. Hughes sent him."
"Yes, sir," added the little man; "and we have the corpse ready for the coffin. Very nice it looks, too; though it was a hard job. Was it poison killed him, sir?"
"Yes," I answered, with a feeling of nausea, "it was poison."