“Well, this morning—­where’s that butler man?”

“Here, sir,” and Ferdinand appeared promptly, and with his usual correct demeanor.

“Yes, you.  Now, this morning, those two doors to the sleeping rooms was locked, I understand?”

“Yes, sir.  They were.”

“Usually—­what happens?”

“What—­what happens, sir?”

“Yes; what’s your first duty in the morning?  Does Mr. Embury call you—­or ring for you?”

“Oh, that, sir.  Why, generally Mr. Embury unlocked his door about eight o’clock—­”

“And you went to help him dress?”

“No, sir.  Mr. Embury didn’t require that.  I valeted his clothes, like, and kept them in order, but he dressed by himself.  I took him some tea and toast—­he had that before the regular breakfast—­”

“And this morning—­when he didn’t ring or make any sound, what did you do?”

“I waited a little while and then I rapped at Mrs, Embury’s door.”

“Yes; and she—­now, be careful, man—­” Shane’s voice was impressive.  “How did she act?  Unusual, or frightened in any way?”

“Not a bit, sir.  Mrs, Embury was surprised, and when I said Mr. Embury didn’t answer my knock, she let me go through her room to his.”

“Exactly.  And then you found your master dead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now-what is your name?”

“Ferdinand.”

“Yes.  Now, Ferdinand, you know Mr. and Mrs, Embury had a quarrel last night.”

“Yes, sir.”

The trap had worked!  Shane had brought about the admission from the servant that Eunice had refused to make.  A smile of satisfaction settled on his ugly features, as he nodded his head and went on.

“At what time was this?”

“Ferdinand, be quiet,” said Eunice, her own voice low and even, but her face was ablaze with wrath.  “You know nothing of such things!”

“That’s right, sir, I don’t.”

Clearly, the butler, restored to his sense of the responsibilities of his position, felt he had made a misstep and regretted it.

“Be quiet, madam!” Shane hurled at Eunice, and turning to the frightened Ferdinand, said:  “You tell the truth, or you’ll go to jail!  At what time was this quarrel that you have admitted took place?”

Eunice stood, superbly indifferent, looking like a tragedy queen.  “Tell him, Ferdinand; tell all you know, but tell only the truth.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Yes, sir; why, it was just before they went out.”

“Ah, before.  Did they go out together?”

“No, sir.  Mrs, Embury went later—­by herself.”

“I told you that!” Eunice interposed.  “I gave you a detailed account of the evening.”

“You omitted the quarrel.  What was it about?”

“It was scarcely important enough to call a quarrel.  My husband and I frequently disagreed on trifling matters.  We were both a little short-tempered, and often had altercations that were forgotten as soon as they occurred.”