The Inspector felt in a vague way that he had committed a solecism, but he was strong in the consciousness of his duty, and he replied firmly: "Yes, I rang. I want to ask you a few questions. Is your name Albert Sturry?"
"My name, Inspector, is Albert Reginald Sturry."
The Inspector repressed an impulse to beg his pardon, and wrote the name in his notebook. "You are employed here as butler?"
"I have served Mr. Herriard in that capacity for four years and seven months," replied Sturry. "Previous to that, I was with the late Sir Barnabas Lancing, of Lancing Towers, and Upper Eaton Place."
The Inspector made a note of this, but wisely thrust Sir Barnabas into the background. He said: "Now, what do you know about this business?"
The arctic light in Sturry's eye plainly informed him that if he imagined he could address a respectable butler in this fashion he would find himself much mistaken. "I regret that I am unable to assist you," said Sturry. "It being no part of my duties to pry into the affairs of my employers."
The Inspector perceived that he had taken a false step. He said: "Naturally not, but a man in your position is bound to know the ins and outs of a house."
Sturry acknowledged this tribute by a slight bow, and waited.
"By all accounts the deceased was a difficult man to get on with, eh?"
"I experienced no difficulty, Inspector. Mr. Herriard had his idiosyncrasies, no doubt. Latterly his temper became impaired by rheumatic complaints, as was understandable."