“To-morrow’ll do, sir; there’ll have to be some formalities, permits and such. The inspector will let you know.”
McCarty and his companions had remained standing since the re-entrance of Orbit with his guests and now he signaled with lifted eyebrows to his former superior and nodded almost imperceptibly toward the door. Inspector Druet nodded in response and turned to the four men collectively.
“We won’t trouble you any further, and if we can obtain the information we want elsewhere it will not be necessary to question the servants of any one living here in the Mall. Goodnight.”
The Chinese butler was waiting to show them out but McCarty lingered for a moment after the others had preceded him.
“You’re the butler here?”
The other bowed in silent affirmation and McCarty went on:
“How many other servants are employed here and what are their names?”
“André the chef, Jean the houseman and little Fu Moy the coffee boy. That is all except Hughes.” The reply came without a pause in the falsetto singsong monotone.
“Hughes is dead,” McCarty said abruptly.
Again the Chinese bowed and when he raised his head his expression had not changed an iota.