“Hello, Blythe!” said Gatton, “who instructed you to come here?”

“Sir Marcus’s man—­Morris—­telephoned the Yard,” was the reply, “as he couldn’t understand what had become of his master and I was sent along to see him.”

“Oh,” said Gatton, “very good.  Report to me in due course.”

Blythe departed, and Gatton and I entered the hall.  The man, Morris, closed the door, and led us into a small library.  Beside the telephone stood a tray bearing decanter and glasses, and there was evidence that Morris had partaken of a hurried breakfast consisting only of biscuits and whisky and soda.

“I haven’t been to bed all night, gentlemen,” he began the moment that we entered the room.  “Sir Marcus was a good master and if he was sleeping away from home he never failed to advise me, so that I knew even before the dreadful news reached me that something was amiss.”

He was quite unstrung and his voice was unsteady.  The reputation of the late baronet had been one which I personally did not envy him, but whatever his faults, and I knew they had been many, he had evidently possessed the redeeming virtue of being a good employer.

“A couple of hours’ sleep would make a new man of you,” said Gatton kindly.  “I understand your feelings, but no amount of sorrow can mend matters, unfortunately.  Now, I don’t want to worry you, but there are one or two points which I must ask you to clear up.  In the first place did you ever see this before?”

From his pocket he took out the little figure of Bast, the cat-goddess, and held it up before Morris.

The man stared at it with lack-luster eyes, scratching his unshaven chin; then he shook his head slowly.

“Never,” he declared.  “No, I am positive I never saw a figure like that before.”

“Then, secondly,” continued Gatton, “was your master ever in Egypt?”

“Not that I am aware of; certainly not since I have been with him—­six years on the thirty-first of this month.”

“Ah,” said Gatton.  “Now, when did you last see Sir Marcus?”

“At half-past six last night, sir.  He was dining at his club and then going to the New Avenue Theater.  I booked a seat for him myself.”

“He was going alone, then?”

“Yes.”

Gatton glanced at me significantly and I experienced an uncomfortable thrill.  In the inspector’s glance I had read that he suspected the presence of a woman in the case and at the mention of the New Avenue Theater it had instantly occurred to me that Isobel Merlin was appearing there!  Gatton turned again to Morris.

“Sir Marcus had not led you to suppose that there was any likelihood of his not returning last night?”

“No, sir; that was why, knowing his regular custom, I became so alarmed when he failed to come back or to ’phone.”

Gatton stared hard at the speaker and: 

“It will be no breach of confidence on your part,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “for you to answer my next question.  The best service you can do your late master now will be to help us to apprehend his murderer.”