“Some little time before. I have Vite, here, to thank for that.” A faint smile curved Orbit’s mobile lips and he stroked the little creature in his arm with a reassuring gesture as it whimpered at the mention of its name. “An alcohol cigar-lighter was left burning on my desk and in his haste to follow me downstairs Vite knocked it over, setting fire to an upholstered chair, but Fu Moy, the coffee boy who admitted you just now, discovered it before any further damage was done and summoned Ching Lee. Fu Moy was as pleasantly excited about it as any small American boy would have been, but he should not have annoyed you with his chatter. I suppose it was he who told you?”
“No, sir. I knew it last night,” Dennis remarked. “I smelled it.”
“To be sure! I could not myself detect it downstairs but when I retired the odor drove me to one of the guest rooms and although I am an experienced traveler I do not sleep well in unaccustomed surroundings; that is why you find me still en déshabillé at this hour.” He glanced down at the house-robe and then added with a touch of sadness in his voice. “To be truthful, I could not get poor Hughes out of my thoughts. After all, twenty-two years is a long time.”
“It is that, Mr. Orbit. When he laid out your clothes and asked for the evening off, did he leave you at once?”
“Yes. I told him to go and have his dinner; the servants always dine early when I am entertaining, for their meals are prepared separately. That is how the cigar lighter happened to be left burning. I can’t tell you what time he went out but perhaps André or Jean would know, or Ching Lee. André is the cook; shall I have him sent to you here?”
“If it’s all the same to you we’ll go to the kitchen and talk to him.” McCarty glanced at the mass of exotic blooms, vividly ablaze where the sun poured in upon them through the glass wall. “You’ve some wonderful flowers, Mr. Orbit.”
“The orchids are rather rare; some of them have never been known to thrive above the equator before and the cacti and palms usually do not grow north of Central America. I’m quite proud of them. But come. I will show you the way to the pantries and kitchen.”
McCarty gasped thankfully in the comparatively chill atmosphere of the hall after the almost overpowering heat of the conservatory and the two followed along a narrowed hall toward the rear. Half-open double doors at the left past the library revealed a great formal dining-room and back of the conservatory, on the other side of the wall against which the organ had been installed, there appeared to be a combined picture gallery and card room, for the walls were lined with paintings whose massive frames all but touched and green-clothed tables of various sizes stood about on the brightly waxed surface of the marquetry floor.
“Ring the bell in the pantry for Fu Moy and he will bring you to me if there are any questions you would like to ask after you have seen André or Jean.” Orbit had paused before a door at the end of the hall. “Ching Lee is out at present but I shall be glad to give you any assistance in my power. Since the inspector attached so much importance to it I find that I am curious myself to know what errand could have taken Hughes to the quarter of town in which he died.—Beyond the butler’s pantry you will find the kitchen pantries, the refrigerating room and then the kitchen.”
“All right, then,” McCarty responded. “The chances are that we won’t bother you again before we go.”