A plain, hard-featured little man, in a long black overcoat, and holding a bowler hat in his hand, bowed respectfully to Mr. Sabin.
“I am much obliged to you, sir,” he said. “My name is John Passmore. We do not of course appear in this matter unless the post-mortem should indicate anything unusual in the circumstances of Duson’s death, but it is always well to be prepared, and I ventured to ask Mr. Hertz here to procure for me your opinion as regards the death of your servant.”
“You have asked me,” Mr. Sabin said gravely, “a very difficult question.”
The eyes of the little detective flashed keenly.
“You do not believe then, sir, that he died a natural death?”
“I do not,” Mr. Sabin answered.
Mr. Hertz was startled. The detective controlled his features admirably.
“May I ask your reasons, sir?”
Mr. Sabin lightly shrugged his shoulders.
“I have never known the man to have a day’s illness in his life,” he said. “Further, since his arrival in England he has been acting in a strange and furtive manner, and I gathered that he had some cause for fear which he was indisposed to talk about.”