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With the unerring instinct of a "gentleman's gentleman," he had placed Firth in that intermediate class towards members of which one displays a reasonable respect (as a well-trained butler should do) but not the peculiar deference which is reserved for social superiority. As if to discount his studiously calm manner, however, the high color of James Wake had now filtered away entirely.

"I am Chief Inspector Firth, and what has happened is a murder. Just step across, Mr. Wake, and tell me if you know the dead man."

Wake, suddenly aware of his wet umbrella, inverted it hurriedly, then, drawing open a curtain which hung before a cupboard immediately inside the door, he placed it in a stand which the curtain had concealed and hung up his hat. He crossed the lobby with short, sturdy steps, and looked down at Sir Giles Loeder. Then he turned and faced Firth.

"I recognise this unfortunate gentleman, Inspector. It is Sir Giles Loeder."

"Quite so. A friend of his lordship?"

"Not to my knowledge, Inspector."