The man considered.
“Yes, sir, I think he did,” he said. “He went out that way,” and he pointed.
The two men hurried along, turned into Berkeley Street, and as they did so, the car-washer turned to the closed doors of his garage and whistled softly. The door opened slowly and Mr. Joshua Broad came out.
“Thank you,” he said, and a piece of crisp and crackling paper went into the washer’s hand.
He was out of sight before Dick and the detective came back from their vain quest.
No doubt existed in Dick’s mind as to who the murderer was. One of the footmen was missing. The remaining servants were respectable individuals of unimpeachable character. The seventh had come at the same time as Mr. Maitland; and although he wore a footman’s livery, he had apparently no previous experience of the duties which he was expected to perform. He was an ill-favoured man, who spoke very little, and “kept himself to himself,” as they described it; took part in none of their pleasures or gossip; was never in the servants’ hall a second longer than was necessary.
“Obviously a Frog,” said Elk, and was overjoyed to learn that there was a photograph of the man in existence.
The photograph had its origin in an elaborate and somewhat pointless joke which had been played on the cook by the youngest of the footmen. The joke consisted of finding in the cook’s workbasket a photograph of the ugly footman, and for this purpose the young servant had taken a snap of the man.
“Do you know him?” asked Dick, looking at the picture.
Elk nodded.