There was no mistaking the earnestness in his tones and the inspector started to speak, but once more he was forestalled by the opening of the door, and Orbit ushered in three men. The first was slightly younger than his host, stout and bald except for a fringe of sandy hair. His mouth beneath the small, reddish mustache had a humorous quirk at the corners which appeared to be habitual, his blue eyes twinkled and he regarded the police official and his two deputies with a frank and not unfriendly curiosity.
The second man was approximately the same age but his smooth-shaven face was strikingly handsome and his youthfully cut dinner coat was worn with a jauntiness which proclaimed the middle-aged gallant.
The last of Mr. Orbit’s guests to enter was a tall, thin man of about thirty, whose inordinately serious expression was enhanced by the shell-rimmed glasses which bestrode the bridge of his nose. His chin was cleft, like that of the man who had immediately preceded him and there was an unmistakable family resemblance between them. Even before the introduction McCarty placed him as Brinsley Sloane, Second, the older man as his father, Gardner Sloane, and the first to enter, therefore, as the next-door neighbor, Eustace Goddard.
It was Goddard who spoke first.
“Too bad about poor Hughes, inspector. Very hard on Mr. Orbit, I must say. I’ve seen Hughes about the house here for years, of course, but I don’t think I’ve exchanged half a dozen words with him in my life and I’m quite sure none of the servants in my household know anything more about him than I do.”
“Why, Mr. Goddard?” asked the inspector.
“Well, for one thing, they’re all elderly and staid—been with my family for years. Mr. Orbit happened to mention the fact just now that Hughes was given to dissipation occasionally. He wouldn’t have found anything in common with our staff, but you are welcome to question them to-morrow as much as you please.”
“Thank you.” The inspector turned to the elder of the two remaining guests. “Mr. Sloane, have you happened to notice any acquaintanceship between Mr. Orbit’s valet and your servants?”
There was a slight touch of sarcasm in his voice and the flush which mounted to Goddard’s scant red hair showed that the shot had gone home. Gardner Sloane responded with a hearty assumption of cordiality:
“Can’t say that I have, inspector. We are a household of men, for my son and I are alone with my father, who is very old and an invalid. His male nurse, a Swede who speaks little English, and John Platt the butler who is nearly seventy, are the only servants in our employ with whom there is any likelihood that Hughes might have come in contact. However, I have observed him on several occasions in the company of a butler in service in another house on this block and although I find it very distasteful to direct even the most casual of official inquiries to an establishment presided over by an unprotected lady—”