“Very well, sir,” bowed Peterson. “Thank you, sir.”
Margate waited at the base of the stairs. There was a sinister gleam in his eyes, a cruel smile on his lips. He thought he had rightly sized up the butler. He felt reasonably sure that he could, if occasion required it, rely upon Peterson for almost any service for which he was liberally paid.
Peterson returned in about five minutes, and they went upstairs together.
The butler extinguished the hall light, leaving the lower floor of the house in darkness.
A dim light burned on the second floor.
Peterson tapped lightly on the door of a side chamber. It brought the nurse into the hall—a slender girl in the twenties, with thin features, reddish hair, and shifty gray eyes. She nodded and smiled, with a quick glance at the private secretary.
“Thank you, Peterson,” Margate said quietly. “That’s all, my good fellow. You may go up to bed. I will turn out the light in this hall for you.”
“Very well, sir,” bowed Peterson, evidently unsuspicious. “Thank you, sir. Good night, miss. Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Peterson.”
The butler turned away and vanished up the servants’ stairway.