"You have a big place to take care of, Fergus, but you keep it very neat," Andrew said.
"Aye," replied the gardener. "I'm thinking it's big enough."
"Have you help?"
"Willie Grant comes over whiles, when I've mair than ordinar' to do. He has a club foot, ye'll mind, an' is no' verra active, but there's jobs he saves me."
Andrew knew the man, and knew that he could not have sprung across the flower border.
"I see Tom is still at the stables, but the man who drives the car is new. How long have they had him?"
"A year, maybe. Watson's a quiet man, an' makes no unnecessar' mess, like some o' them. He leeves in the hoose."
"Then he doesn't get up very early."
"He's at Dumfries wi' the car. There was something to be sortit an' he took her there yestreen. Mr. Staffer's for Glasgow, the morn."
After a few remarks about the garden, Andrew strolled away. He had learned that the night prowler could not have been one of the men employed at Appleyard. The fellow had apparently not entered the house, and although he had stayed long enough to deliver a message to somebody inside, Andrew had not heard a door or window open. The matter puzzled him, but he determined to say nothing about it, although he was conscious of no particular reason for his reserve.