“It would be fatal to our purpose, madam, if the least suspicion were aroused. Now let me think. Can you manage another footman?”
“I don’t know anything about the servants—they are entirely managed by my housekeeper, Mrs. Ferguson. We are a small family and we have two footmen here at present.”
“Has Mr. Rowton a valet?” asked Crossley, knitting his brows as he spoke.
“No, he never will have one. He hates to have people about him when he is dressing.”
“Some gentlemen are like that,” said Crossley. “It must be the footman then. There is nothing for it, Mrs. Rowton, but for you to dismiss one of your servants.”
“I don’t know how that is possible,” answered Nance—“the two footmen who are here at present grew up in the village, and are, I believe, much attached to the place.”
“You must make an excuse to get rid of one of them. Watch him when he commits some slight indiscretion, give him notice, pay him a month’s wages and a trifle over if you like, and then wire to me. My man shall come down quickly to take his place.”
“This upsets me terribly,” said Nance. She pressed her hand to her forehead as she spoke.
“I said there would be crooked work and all kinds of unpleasantnesses,” said the detective in a dry tone. He rose as he spoke. “Can you oblige me with fifty pounds on account?” he asked.