"Well, really, it is a most awful cheek to come into another man's room without being asked."
"Without being asked," said Kenly pleasantly. "You must have a very bad memory, old chap, for your very last words yesterday evening were, 'Don't be a minute later than eight o'clock.'"
"Good Lord!" said Under, "I must have been drunk."
"Not a bit of it," replied Kenly. "You looked as sober as if you had been drinking eight lemon-squashes one after the other."
"I swear I never did that in my life," said the valet fervently.
He was wide awake by this time, and he sat bolt upright on the bed.
"No, I don't suppose you did last night, or you would not have gone to bed in your boots," remarked Kenly. "But all the same, you promised to tell me some interesting facts about your late employer, Mr. Guy Hora, and here I am."
Under stared more than ever. His eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head.
"I—told—you—that I could tell you something about Mr. Hora?" he gasped.
"That's what I have come for," replied the detective. The valet's amazement found expression at last.