The door was opened almost immediately by a thin butler who had a sour expression and looked as though he suffered from dyspepsia. His gaze swept the Superintendent by, and came to rest on Giles. He gave a slight bow, and opened the door wider.
“Morning, Taylor,” Giles said. “Superintendent Hannasyde and I want to go through Mr Vereker's papers.”
“Yes, sir?” The butler eyed Hannasyde for one disapproving minute. “The library is locked, as the Superintendent left it yesterday, I understand.”
It was plain that the butler had no opinion of policemen who walked into well-ordered houses, and locked up rooms as they pleased.
“A bad business about Mr Vereker,” Giles said, handing him his hat and gloves.
“Extremely distasteful, sir.”
“I should like to have a word with you, please,” said Hannasyde, taking a key out of his pocket, and fitting it into the lock of a door on the right of the front door.
“Certainly, sir,” said Taylor, frigidly. “I regret having been out when you called yesterday, but Sunday is my Day.”
“Yes, I understand. Come in here, will you? Mr Carrington, will you take these?” He held out a collection of keys on a ring, which Giles took, while the butler walked over to the window and drew back the curtains.
The library had the same air of conscious opulence that pervaded every room in Arnold Vereker's house. It had expensive leather chairs, and expensive sets of calfbound volumes in oak bookshelves. There was a very thick pile carpet, and a very richly carved desk. Everything spoke aloud the unguided taste of a high-class firm of decorators; nothing gave any indication of the owner's personality.