Mrs. Manderson to go over the house and make enquiries,' explained the detective. 'He would like to hear your story.' Martin bowed distantly. He recognized Trent for a gentleman. Time would show whether he was what Martin called a gentleman in every sense of the word.
'I observed you approaching the house, sir,' said Martin with impassive courtesy. He spoke with a slow and measured utterance. 'My instructions are to assist you in every possible way. Should you wish me to recall the circumstances of Sunday night?'
'Please,' said Trent with ponderous gravity. Martin's style was making clamorous appeal to his sense of comedy. He banished with an effort all vivacity of expression from his face.
'I last saw Mr. Manderson—'
'No, not that yet,' Trent checked him quietly. 'Tell me all you saw of him that evening–after dinner, say. Try to recollect every little detail.'
'After dinner, sir?–yes. I remember that after dinner Mr. Manderson and Mr. Marlowe walked up and down the path through the orchard, talking. If you ask me for details, it
