“Oh, it’s not a case of keeping anything back,” replied Hill.  “You’re too clever for me, and I’ve made up my mind to tell you everything, but I thought I might be able to cut the first part short, so as to save your time.  But so that you’ll understand everything I’ve got to go a long way back—­shortly after I entered Sir Horace Fewbanks’s service.  In fact, I hadn’t been long with him before I began to see he was leading a strange life—­a double life, if I may say so.  A servant in a gentleman’s house—­particularly one in my position—­sees a good deal he is not meant to see; in fact, he couldn’t close his eyes to it if he wanted to, as no doubt you, from your experience, sir, know very well.  A confidential servant sees and hears a lot of things, sir.”

Inspector Chippenfield nodded his head sharply, but he did not speak.

“I think Sir Horace trusted me, too,” continued Hill humbly, “more than he would have trusted most servants, on account of my—­my past.  I fancy, if I may say so, that he counted on my gratitude because he had given me a fresh start in life.  And he was quite right—­at first.”  Hill dropped his voice and looked down as he uttered the last two words.  “I’d have done anything for him.  But as I was saying, sir, I hadn’t been long in his house before I found out that he had a—­a weakness—­” Hill timidly bowed his head as though apologising to the dead judge for assailing his character—­“a weakness for—­for the ladies.  Sometimes Sir Horace went off for the week-end without saying where he was going and sometimes he went out late at night and didn’t return till after breakfast.  Then he had ladies visiting him at Riversbrook—­not real ladies, if you understand, sir.  Sometimes there was a small party of them, and then they made a noise singing music-hall songs and drinking wine, but generally they came alone.  Towards the end there was one who came a lot oftener than the others.  I found out afterwards that her name was Fanning—­Doris Fanning.  She was a very pretty young woman, and Sir Horace seemed very fond of her.  I knew that because I’ve heard him talking to her in the library.  Sir Horace had rather a loud voice, and I couldn’t help overhearing him sometimes, when I took things to his rooms.

“One night,—­it was before Sir Horace left for Scotland—­a rainy gusty night, this young woman came.  I forgot to mention that when Sir Horace expected visitors he used to tell me to send the servants to bed early.  He told me to do so this night, saying as usual, ‘You understand, Hill?’ and I replied, ‘Yes, Sir Horace,’ The young woman came about half-past ten o’clock, and I let her in the side door and showed her up to the library on the first floor, where he used to sit and work and read.  Half an hour afterwards I took up some refreshments—­some sandwiches and a small bottle of champagne for the young lady—­and then went back downstairs till Sir Horace rang for me to let the lady out, which was generally about midnight.  But this night, I’d hardly been downstairs more than a quarter of an hour, when I heard a loud crash, followed by a sort of scream.  Before I could get out of my chair to go upstairs I heard the study door open, and Sir Horace called out, ‘Hill, come here!’