Ford, when he presently appeared in the Sergeant's wake, showed a slight reluctance to enter the room, and seemed a little nervous. Detectives from Scotland Yard were outside the range of his experience, and although he could look Inspector Hemingway in the eye, he was unable to keep a tremor out of his voice.
When Hemingway asked him if he had tried to open the door into his master's room, he had to think for a moment before replying that he had just turned the handle.
"What do you mean, "just turned the handle"?" asked Hemingway.
"Sort of gently, Inspector, in case Mr. Herriard didn't want to be disturbed. The door wouldn't open."
"So then what did you do?"
"Nothing. I mean, I just waited by the backstairs, like I told the other Inspector."
"Oh, you did, did you? Well, it seems a funny thing that a man's valet, expecting to help his master to dress, and getting no answer to his knock on the door, and finding the door locked, should walk off without so much as thinking that the business was a bit odd."
Ford stammered: "I did think it was unusual. Well, not as much as that, but it hadn't ever happened quite like that before. But Mr. Herriard didn't always have me in to help him to dress. Only when his lumbago was troubling him, so to speak."
"Which I'm told it was," said Hemingway swiftly.
Ford swallowed. "Yes, sir, but -"