“That’s what we’re asking!” McCarty retorted. “First of all we’ve got to fix the time he left the house. Did you see him when you went there to dinner last night?”
“No. It was about quarter past eight and just beginning to rain when I went next door. Ching Lee admitted me and I found Orbit in the library; the Sloanes came a few minutes later and we four went in to dinner and then played a rubber or two of bridge. I’ve never seen Orbit in better form; he’s a splendid player but last night his game was extraordinary and we had a rattling good time until you fellows showed up!”
“You weren’t playing cards when we got there,” McCarty suggested.
“No, we’d finished and gone into the conservatory. Orbit was at the organ; you must have heard him.” Goddard spoke in short, jerky sentences as though out of breath and a deeper flush had mounted in his ruddy cheeks. “Don’t pretend to know much about music myself but Orbit can make those pipes talk and I never heard him play as he did last night! His own composition, too; he’s a genius!”
“You’ve known him long?”
“God bless me, yes! He was my idol when I was a little boy and he a big one, home from school for the holidays. Then came the university and after that he traveled for some years, returning only at his father’s sudden death. He brought Hughes back with him then.” Goddard checked himself as though recalled all at once to a consciousness of his visitor’s identity. “About last night, though, I saw none of the servants except Ching Lee and Fu Moy.”
“Have those two been with Orbit a long while?”
“Ching Lee has; little Fu Moy only appeared a year or so ago. But Orbit himself can tell you—”
“You visit in there a lot, don’t you?” McCarty interrupted.
“Naturally, when Mr. Orbit is in residence.” A shade of stiffness had manifested itself in the genial, garrulous tones. “He frequently closed the house and went away for long trips, although not of late years!”