When a swish of skirts on the stairs announced the housemaid he retreated to the bedroom, and the girl found him standing at a south window, gazing out over the fair vista of the Italian terraces and the rolling parkland.
"Yes, sir," said the girl timidly.
He turned, as if he had not heard her approach. She was pale, and her eyes were red, for the feminine portion of the household was in a state of collapse.
"I only wanted to ask why a fire is laid in the sitting-room in such fine weather," he said.
"Mr. Hilton sits up late, sir, and if the evening is at all chilly, he puts a match to the grate himself."
"Ah, a silly question. Don't tell anybody I spoke of it or they'll think me a funny detective, won't they?"
He smiled genially, and the girl's face brightened.
"I don't see that, sir," she said. "I don't know why Mr. Hilton wanted a fire last night. It was quite hot. I slept with my window wide open."
"A very healthy habit, too. Do you attend to Mr. Robert's suite?"