“He’s inclined to be hasty, sir,” said Austin tolerantly.
“See here,” snapped the inspector, “you say you found Mr. Warren in his library at half past twelve. Did you hear him enter the house?”
“No,” the butler returned, “he has his key.”
“The thing we want to clear up,” interrupted Mr. Warren in a kindly tone, “is simply this. What did I say to you when you spoke to me?”
Austin looked uncomfortable.
“It was a gesture, sir, rather than a word. You waved your arm and I knew what you meant.”
“You are one prize liar!” roared the inspector. “You said something quite different when I asked you.”
“I don’t see that it matters much,” Austin returned acidly. “On Monday night Mr. Warren may have said for me to go to bed. On Tuesday he may have waved his hand impatient like. On Wednesday he may have asked for cigars or the evening papers. I remember only that on this occasion I was not asked for anything.” He turned to his employer, “I should like to remind you, sir, that we are giving a dinner party to-night and I ought to be seeing after it now. Can I go, sir?”
“You cannot,” cried Inspector McWalsh, “you’re under arrest!”
“I told you he was hasty, sir,” said Austin without emotion. “What for may I ask?”