The man spoke glibly enough, but why without being asked had he volunteered a detailed account of how he had spent the evening? Did he consider it necessary to establish an alibi, and if so, what reason had he? There was a frank, open look to him, McCarty thought, and anyway there would be no sense in disputing with him now; even if he was lying André would back up that statement of his.
“Do all of you sleep on the same floor?”
Jean nodded.
“At the top of the house. Shall I show you—?”
“No, I’ll be taking a look around later, maybe. What else is on this floor besides Mr. Orbit’s room?”
“Monsieur’s suite,” Jean corrected. “He has a private sitting-room also, in addition to the bedroom and dressing-room. The rest of this floor and all of the one above are arranged in suites for guests.”
“Does Mr. Orbit have much company staying here in the house?” McCarty’s gaze had wandered to the many doors on either side of the broad corridor.
“Not many. Only one or two at a time have I seen since I came, and all gentlemen. Never are ladies guests of the house although often they dine here or arrive for the affairs of society which Monsieur gives.—But I must arrange the table now for déjeuner, because Ching Lee is out.”
He gathered up his brushes and started for the back stairs but McCarty stopped him.
“Where did Ching Lee go? Did Orbit send him on an errand?”