“Suppose, Sergeant, we overhaul the two servants now.”
Heath stepped into the hall and gave an order to one of his men. A few moments later a tall, sombre, disjointed man entered and stood at respectful attention.
“This is the butler, sir,” explained the Sergeant. “Named Pyne.”
Markham studied the man appraisingly. He was perhaps sixty years old. His features were markedly acromegalic; and this distortion extended to his entire figure. His hands were large, and his feet broad and misshapen. His clothes, though neatly pressed, fitted him badly; and his high clerical collar was several sizes too large for him. His eyes, beneath gray, bushy eyebrows, were pale and watery, and his mouth was a mere slit in an unhealthily puffy face. Despite his utter lack of physical prepossession, however, he gave one the impression of shrewd competency.
“So you are the Dillard butler,” mused Markham. “How long have you been with the family, Pyne?”
“Going on ten years, sir.”
“You came, then, just after Professor Dillard resigned his chair at the university?”
“I believe so, sir.” The man’s voice was deep and rumbling.
“What do you know of the tragedy that occurred here this morning?” Though Markham put the question suddenly, in the hope, I imagine, of surprising some admission, Pyne received it with the utmost stoicism.
“Nothing whatever, sir. I was unaware that anything had happened until Professor Dillard called to me from the library and asked me to look for Mr. Sperling.”