“Wife living?”
“Both, sir. I’m paying a small alimony to both.”
Delaney grunted. His foot went out toward the magpie which had finished hopping about the perches of the cage, and was listening with head cocked sideways.
“You—you have charge of this bird?” asked Drew, turning fully around and facing the valet with heavy-lidded intentness.
“I’m its keeper, sir!”
Delaney coughed explosively. He leaned down to cover his confusion. He jabbed a thumb at the bird.
“It’s savage,” he rumbled. “It pecked at me!”
“Easy,” warned Drew, with a quick frown. “Easy, Delaney. I want to get to the facts of this case. We’re wasting time.”
“Go ahead, Chief.”
“I’ve had you come down here,” said Drew, turning to the valet, “in order to find out about that magpie. You had charge of it when Mr. Stockbridge was alive?”