I glanced at him first and saw only the usual blank countenance of the well-trained coachman.

His face was intelligent, and his eyes alert, but his impassive expression showed his habit of controlling any indication of interest in people or things.

I felt there would be difficulty in ingratiating myself at all, but I felt sure that subterfuge would not help me, so I spoke directly.

“You are the coachman of the late Mr. Crawford?”

“Yes, sir.”

I hadn’t really expected more than this in words, but his tone was so decidedly uninviting of further conversation that I almost concluded to say nothing more.  But the drive promised to be a fairly long one, so I made another effort.

“As the detective on this case, I wish to hear the story of it as soon as I can.  Perhaps you can give me a brief outline of what happened.”

It was perhaps my straightforward manner, and my quite apparent assumption of his intelligence, that made the man relax a little and reply in a more conversational tone.

“We’re forbidden to chatter, sir,” he said, “but, bein’ as you’re the detective, I s’pose there’s no harm.  But it’s little we know, after all.  The master was well and sound last evenin’, and this mornin’ he was found dead in his own office-chair.”

“You mean a private office in his home?”

“Yes, sir.  Mr. Crawford went to his office in New York ’most every day, but days when he didn’t go, and evenin’s and Sundays, he was much in his office at home, sir.”

“Who discovered the tragedy?”

“I don’t rightly know, sir, if it was Louis, his valet, or Lambert, the butler, but it was one or t’other, sir.”

“Or both together?” I suggested.

“Yes, sir; or both together.”

“Is any one suspected of the crime?”

The man hesitated a moment, and looked as if uncertain what to reply, then, as he set his jaw squarely, he said: 

“Not as I knows on, sir.”

“Tell me something of the town,” I observed next, feeling that it was better to ask no more vital questions of a servant.

We were driving along streets of great beauty.  Large and handsome dwellings, each set in the midst of extensive and finely-kept grounds, met the view on either aide.  Elaborate entrances opened the way to wide sweeps of driveway circling green velvety lawns adorned with occasional shrubs or flower-beds.  The avenues were wide, and bordered with trees carefully set out and properly trimmed.  The streets were in fine condition, and everything betokened a community, not only wealthy, but intelligent and public-spirited.  Surely West Sedgwick was a delightful location for the homes of wealthy New York business men.

“Well, sir,” said the coachman, with unconcealed pride, “Mr. Crawford was the head of everything in the place.  His is the handsomest house and the grandest grounds.  Everybody respected him and looked up to him.  He hadn’t an enemy in the world.”