"You met Mr. Warren where?"
"In New York. I was valet for a feller named Duckworth, and he went and died on me—typhoid; you c'n find out all about him if you want. Mr. Warren was a friend of Mr. Duckworth's, an' he offered me a job. We lived in New York for a while and then we come down here."
"How long ago?"
"'Bout four years—maybe five."
"What kind of a man was he—personally?"
Carroll watched his man closely without appearing to do so. He saw Barker flush slightly, and did not miss the jerky nervousness of his answer—that or the forced enthusiasm.
"Oh, I reckon he is all right. That is, he was all right. Real nice feller."
"You were fond of him?"
"I didn't say I was in love with him. I said he was a nice feller."
"Treated you well?"