"My attention was first aroused by hearing Mr. Surbonadier say very loud that he knew why Mr. Saint had paid Mr. Mortlake two thousand pounds. This seemed to make Mr. Saint very wild, sir. He didn't speak so loud at first, but his tones are penetrating at the best of times. Mr Surbonadier says: 'I'll do it,' very defiant, and over and over again. I rather gathered, sir, that he was using pressure to force Mr. Saint to give him another part in the play. At first Mr. Saint took on something dreadful and ordered Mr. Surbonadier out, but presently they settled down a bit and spoke quieter and more reasonable."

"You still heard them, however?"

"Not everything. Mr. Saint seemed to promise Mr. Surbonadier a leading part in the next production, saying he couldn't alter this one. They argued a bit, and then it was settled. I heard Mr. Saint say he'd left his money to Mr. Surbonadier, sir. 'Not all of it,' he says, 'Janet gets some, and if you go first she gets the lot.' They looked at the will, sir."

"How do you know?"

"Mr. Saint came out with Mr. Surbonadier later on, and I saw it on the desk."

"And read it?"

"Just glanced, as you might say, sir. I was familiar with it, in a manner of speaking. The butler and me had witnessed it the week before. It was quite short and on those lines—two thousand pounds a year to Miss Emerald, and the rest to Mr. Surbonadier, and a few legacies. The fortune was to go to Miss Emerald if Mr. Surbonadier was no more."

"Anything else?"

"They seemed to get quieter after that. Mr. Surbonadier said something about sending back a letter when the next piece was cast. Soon after that he left."

"Were you with Mr. Saint six years ago?"

"Yes, sir. As knife boy."

"Used Mr. Mortlake to call on him then?"

The man looked surprised. "Yes, sir."

"But not recently?"

"Very occasionally."

"Why did you get the sack?"

"I—I beg pardon, sir?"

"I think you heard what I said."

"Through no fault of my own," said Mincing sullenly.

"I see. Then you bear him a grudge?"

"No wonder if I do."

"Who is Mr. Jacob Saint's doctor?"

"His doctor, sir?"

"Yes."

"Er—it's Sir Everard Sim, sir."

"Has he been called in lately?"

"He comes in, quite regular."

"I see. No other information or incidents? Then you may go. Wait outside for half an hour. There will be a statement for you to sign."

"Thank you, sir."

The man opened the door quietly. He hesitated a moment and then said softly:

"Mr. Saint—he fair hated Mr. Surbonadier."

He went out, closing the door very gently after him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nigel Turns Sleuth

"THAT'S A PRETTY LITTLE PET," said Alleyn. "There's a typewriter over there. Do you mind putting those squiggles into language?"

"Of course I will. Who's Mortlake?"