“What, then, do you know that is likely to get anybody here into trouble?”
The butler hesitated an instant. Then he spoke.
“That Inspector Humphries has been asking me questions, Miss, in a nasty, suspicious sort o’ way. I told him, what I told him already, that just after I’d done serving the tea Mr. Greve crossed the hall and went down the library corridor....”
“You didn’t tell him everything, Bude?”
The butler took a step nearer.
“Oh, Miss,” he said, lowering his voice, “if you’ll pardon my frankness, but I know as how you and Mr. Greve are old friends, and I wouldn’t take it upon me to tell the police anything as might ...”
Mary Trevert stood up and faced the man.
“Bude,” said she, “Mr. Parrish was your master, a kind and generous master as he was kind and generous to every one in this house. We must clear up the mystery of his ... of his death. Neither you nor I nor Mr. Greve nor anybody must stand in the way. Now, tell me the truth!”
She dropped back into her chair. She gave the order imperiously like the mistress of the house. The butler, trained through life to receive orders, surrendered.
“There’s nothing much to tell, Miss. When Mr. Humphries asked me if I were the last person to see Mr. Parrish alive, I made sure that Mr. Greve would say he had been in to tell him tea was ready. But Mr. Greve, who heard the Inspector’s question and my answer, said nothing. So I thought, maybe, he had his reasons and I did not feel exactly as how it was my place ...”