“Family servants,” murmured Fox, placing them. “And of course your own servants would be in the flat?”

“Yes. There’s Baskett, the butler; and the cook and two maids. They may not all have been in. I’ll find out.” He stretched his hand out to the bell.

“In a minute, thank you, my lord. These are all the servants you employ?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you spoke of a nurse, my lord.”

“Oh—you mean Nanny,” said Lord Charles who now seemed to have himself very well in hand. “Yes, of course there’s Nanny. We don’t think of her as one of the servants.”

“No, my lord?”

“No. She’s the real head of affairs, you see.”

“Oh, yes!” said Fox politely. “I would be much obliged if you would send for the butler now.”

Baskett came in with his usual ineffable butler’s walk, executed with the arms held straight down, the hands lightly closed and turned out with the palms downwards. It was the deliberate relaxed pose of a man whose deportment is an important factor in his profession. Baskett did it superbly.

“Oh, Baskett,” said Lord Charles, “Inspector Fox would like to ask you about the people who were in the servants’ quarters this evening. Were all the maids in?”

“Ethel was out, my lord. Mrs. James and Blackmore were in.” He glanced at Fox. “That is the cook and the parlour-maid, sir,” he explained.

“Any visitors in your quarters?” asked Fox.

“Yes, sir. Lord Wutherwood’s chauffeur and Lady Wutherwood’s maid. The chauffeur was in the staff sitting-room, sir, for some time, and then went into No. 26 to help Master Michael with his trains. Miss Tinkerton was with Mrs. Burnaby in her room.”

“Mrs. Burnaby?”

“That’s Nanny,” explained Lord Charles.

“Thank you, my lord. And that is the entire household at the time of the occurrence?”

“I think so,” said Lord Charles. “Was there anyone else in your part of the world, Baskett?”

Baskett looked anxiously at his employer and hesitated. “You will of course tell us,” said Lord Charles, “if you know of anyone else in the flat.”

“Very good, my lord. There was another person, sir, in the kitchen.”

Fox paused, pencil in hand. “Who was that?”

“Good God!” ejaculated Lord Charles. “I’d entirely forgotten him.”

“Forgotten whom, my lord?”

“What’s the miserable creature’s name, Baskett?”

“Grumball, my lord.”

Fox said sharply: “You mean Giggle. I’ve got him.”

“No, sir. This person’s name is Grumball.”

Fox looked scandalized. “Who is he, then?” he asked.

Baskett was silent.

“He’s the man in possession,” said Lord Charles.

“A bailiff, my lord?”

“A bum-bailiff, Mr. Fox.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Fox tranquilly. “I’ll see the rest of the staff, now, if it’s agreeable.”

“Would it be one of these society affairs, sir?” asked Detective-Sergeant Bailey, staring with lack-lustre eyes through the police-car window.

“What society affairs, Bailey?” murmured Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn.

“Well, you know, sir. Cocktails, bottle parties, flats and so forth.”