"It is very kind of you, Mr. John," he said, "to interest yourself, but what I wished to have a word with you about was this burglary of ours last night."
This was more the stuff. John became heartier.
"A most mysterious affair, Sturgis. The man apparently climbed in through this window, and no doubt escaped the same way."
"No, Mr. John. That's what I wished to have a word with you about. He went away down the front stairs."
"What! How do you know?"
"I saw him, Mr. John."
"You saw him?"
"Yes, Mr. John. Owing to being kept awake by my rheumatism."
The remorse which had come upon John at the moment when he had first heard the news of the burglary was as nothing to the remorse which racked him now. Just because this fine old man had one of those mild, goofy faces and bleated like a sheep when he talked, he had dismissed him without further thought as a dodderer. And all the time the splendid old fellow, who could not help his face and was surely not to be blamed if age had affected his vocal chords, had been the God from the Machine, sent from heaven to assist him in getting to the bottom of this outrage. There is no known case on record of a man patting a butler on the head, but John at this moment came very near to providing one.
"You saw him!"