“I’m sorry to say it is true, Jay,” he answered.
“He was very good to us all,” the valet replied in a broken voice. He remained by the desk staring at the body in a dazed fashion.
“Who is that crying outside?” Greve demanded. “This is no place for women ...”
“It’s Mrs. Heever, the housekeeper,” Bude answered.
“Well, she must go back to her room. Send all those servants away. Jay, will you see to it? And take care that Lady Margaret and Miss Trevert don’t come in here, either.”
“Sir Horace is with them, sir, in the lounge,” said Jay and went out.
“I’ll go to them. I think I’d better,” exclaimed the doctor. “I shall be in the lounge when they want me. A dreadful affair! Dreadful!”
The little doctor bustled out, leaving Greve and the butler alone in the room with the mortal remains of Hartley Parrish lying where he had fallen on the soft grey carpet.
“Now, Bude,” said Greve incisively, “get on to the police at once. You’d better telephone from the servant’s hall. I’ll have a look round here in the meantime!”
Bude stood for an instant irresolute. He glanced shrewdly at the young man.