"No, I'm going to ring him up. I'm afraid he's not going to forget this business in a hurry."

"I don't suppose so. Would you, in his place?"

"Never. But I think I'd worry a bit more about whether the police thought me guilty. It's the shock of having fired the revolver that seems to have got him down."

"Isn't that what you'd expect in an innocent man?"

"I'm glad to hear you call him that," said Nigel warmly.

"I talk a great deal too much," declared Alleyn. "Come in!"

The door opened to admit a tall, thin, and rather objectionably good-looking man. His face was a little too pale, his eyes were a little too large, and his mouth a little too soft. He closed the door tenderly, and stood quietly inside it.

"Good morning," said Alleyn.

"Good morning, sir."

"You wanted to see me in reference to the murder of Mr. Arthur Surbonadier."

"I thought you might wish to see me, sir."

"Why?"

The footman glanced at Nigel. Alleyn paid no attention to this indication of caution.

"Well?" he said.

"If I might inquire, sir, whether a little inside information about the late Mr. Surbonadier's relationships with my employer——"

"Oh," Alleyn cut him short, "you want to make a statement."

"Oh, no, sir. I only wanted to inquire. I don't want to mix myself up in anything unpleasant, sir. On the other hand, there was an incident that might be worth the police's while."

"If you are withholding any evidence that may be of value to the police, you will get into quite serious trouble. If you are expecting a bribe, however—"

"Oh, please, sir."

"You won't get one. Should your information be relevant you'll be called as a witness, and you'll be paid for that."

"Well, sir," said the man, with an angry smirk, "I must say you're very outspoken."

"I should advise you to follow my example."

The footman thought for a moment, and shot a rather apprehensive glance at the inspector.

"It's merely an incident," he said at last.

"Let's have it," said Alleyn. "Will you take it down for me, Bathgate?"

Nigel moved up to the desk.

"I understand you are a footman in the employ of Mr. Jacob Saint."

"Yes, sir. Or rather I was."

"Name?"

"Joseph Mincing. Age twenty-three. Address 299A, Hanover Square," volunteered Mr. Mincing, with a little burst of frankness.

"Tell me, in your own words, what this incident was."

"It took place a month ago before this play come on. The twenty-fifth of May to be exact. I took special notice. It was in the afternoon. Mr. Surbonadier came to see Mr. Saint. I showed him into the library and waited outside in the 'all. Angry words passed, of which I heard many." Mr. Mincing paused and looked self-conscious.

"Yes?" said Alleyn.