"A man! Where?"
"I had him wait in the anteroom, sir. He would give no name, and seems to be of the working class; so I thought I better tell you first, sir."
"Very well, Mapes. I'll soon find out what he wants."
It was Sexton, twirling his hat nervously in his hands, and still standing irresolutely in the middle of the floor. As sight of West he took a hasty step forward, eager to explain the cause of his presence.
"You'll pardon me, sir," he burst forth in apology. "But I must see you, sir."
"That's quite all right, Sexton. You have some message?"
"Not--not from any one else, sir. It's just my own business, but--but I thought you would help me, sir."
"Certainly; only too glad. Let's step in here where we can talk quietly."
He pointed the way into a private card room, closing the door behind his visitor.
"Take the seat over there, Sexton. You came in to see me from Fairlawn?"
"No, sir, I didn't. The fact is, I'm not out there any longer."
"Not there! What do you mean?"
"I've been discharged, sir, with two other servants, since the funeral yesterday."
"Discharged! Why I understood you had been employed there for years."
"Several years, sir."
"And now discharged! By whom? Not Miss Natalie surely?"
"Yes, sir. She didn't give no reason; just said we were not wanted any longer. That's one reason why I came here to see you, sir."
"But I hardly know how I can be of help. I have no house of my own, and--well, the truth of the matter is, Sexton, just at present I am not on very good terms with the young lady myself."
"I know that, sir," more confidently. "And it isn't a position I am seeking, at all. I have quite a tidy bit of money laid away, and could get plenty of work. That's not the point, sir. Why should Miss Natalie tell me to go like that? It isn't a bit like her, sir; she ain't seemed natural at all lately, and I tell you there's something wrong goin' on out there. I'm sure o' that, sir."
"Sure of what?"
"Well, for one thing, it's my opinion that Percival Coolidge never killed himself, sir."
West sat up stiffly, as though struck a blow. These words startled him; drove his own mind into sudden activity.
"What makes you think that, Sexton?" he questioned slowly.
"Well, there's more than one thing," as though glad to have made the plunge, and anxious to justify himself. "But first of all that wasn't his revolver they found lying beside him. He always had one in his valise, an' it's there now, or was when I looked to see."