“They can’t get away––” started Delaney.
“Here’s your bird!” announced Drew, as a knock sounded on the door. “Move over and let that valet stand there. I want the light in his eyes when we’re talking to him. Always get the light in the other fellow’s eye. Sisst!”
The door opened to a crack—then wide. The valet came in with an important strut. He turned and deposited a cage at Delaney’s big feet. The operative moved back with a grunt of disgust. He eyed the cage and contents with a homicidal expression. His eyes raised and fastened upon the valet. He hooked his broad thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest and took a deep breath.
“I hope you’re satisfied,” he said to Drew, who was smiling. “I hope this black sparrow don’t start anything. I’ll finish it, sure.”
“What’s your name?” asked the chief, turning and consulting a paper.
“Otto Braun,” said the valet. “Otto Braun, sir.”
“Born in Cologne ... year, sixty-three ... worked as valet and major domo for British families ... came to America with Mr. Stockbridge, and have been with him since?”
“That’s correct, sir,” the valet said, with a start of amazement.
“Are you married?”
“Twice—sir.”