"Well, take your note-book and jot down a description of what you see. I must go down to my apartment and attend to one or two things. Look me up to-morrow."
"Yes, sir. Excuse me, sir, but who is that gentleman over there, sweeping with the broom? His face seemed so very familiar."
"His name is Mullett. He works for my friend, George Finch. But never mind about Mullett. Stick to your work. Concentrate! Concentrate!"
"Yes, sir. Most certainly, Mr. Beamish."
He looked with dog-like devotion at the thinker: then, licking the point of his pencil, bent himself to his task.
Hamilton Beamish turned on his No-Jar rubber heel and passed through the door to the stairs.
3
Following his departure, silence reigned for some minutes on the roof of the Sheridan. Mullett resumed his sweeping, and Officer Garroway scribbled industriously in his note-book. But after about a quarter of an hour, feeling apparently that he had observed all there was to observe, he put book and pencil away in the recesses of his uniform and, approaching Mullett, subjected him to a mild but penetrating scrutiny.
"I feel convinced, Mr. Mullett," he said, "that I have seen your face before."
"And I say you haven't," said the valet testily.