"Who the devil are you?" he asked, "for I'll be hanged if I ever saw you in my life before."
The Inspector was enjoying his game of bluff immensely; he played his best card.
"Detective Inspector Kenly of Scotland Yard," he answered.
At the information Under's mouth opened as wide as his eyes.
But the detective observed that there was no tinge of fear in his amazement.
"Well, that is a rum go," remarked the valet, when he recovered his speech.
"It most certainly is," replied Kenly. "You tell me that you are in a position to give me important information, you invite me to call, and then you declare that you have entirely forgotten not only your promise but the man you made it to."
"But, I couldn't have made any such promise," declared the valet earnestly, "for I have absolutely nothing to tell. A nicer gentleman I've never had anything to do with than Mr. Hora, and as for knowing anything which could be of interest to the police——" An idea came into his brain. "Look here," he said, "I suppose Mr. Hora hasn't sent you here to see if I took anything which doesn't belong to me, because, if so, he's mistaken. I admit I do take a drop too much now and again, though I have fought hard against my little failing, but nobody's ever said that James Under wasn't honest."
There was an emotional throb in the valet's voice, and Kenly hastened to reassure him.
"No," he said. "My call was not in consequence of any charge which has been made against you. It is entirely prompted by a desire to know something of Mr. Guy Hora."