Yet the butler was a strange figure, there was no getting away from that. And as far as Roger could judge, there had been no love lost between him and Stanworth. Yes, there was undoubtedly a mystery of some kind connected with that butler. Jefferson’s explanation of why Mr. Stanworth should have employed a prizefighting butler did not strike one as quite satisfactory.
Then why had Mrs. Plant been crying in the library? Roger strove to remember some scenes in which she and Stanworth had been thrown into contact. How had they behaved towards each other? Had they seemed friendly, or the reverse? As far as he could recollect, Stanworth had treated her with the same casual good-fellowship which he showed to everybody; while she—Yes, now he came to think of it, she had never appeared to be on particularly good terms with him. She had been quiet and reserved when he was in the room. Not that she was really ever anything else but quiet and reserved under any circumstances; but yes, there had been a subtle change in her manner when he was about. Obviously she had disliked him.
Clearly there was only one hope for finding the answer to these riddles, and that was to investigate Stanworth’s affairs. In all probability even that would prove futile; but as far as Roger could see there was no other way to try with even a moderate chance of success. And while he was racking his brains out here, Jefferson was sitting in the morning room surrounded by documents which Roger would give anything to see.
A sudden idea occurred to him. Why not beard the lion in his den and offer to give Jefferson a hand with his task? In any case, that would form a direct challenge, the answer to which could not fail to be interesting.
With Roger to think was, in nine cases out of ten, to leap into precipitate action. Almost before the thought had completed its passage through his mind, he was on his feet and striding eagerly towards the house.
Without troubling to knock he burst open the door of the morning room and walked in. Jefferson was seated in front of the table in the centre of the room, surrounded, as Roger’s mind’s eye had seen him, with papers and documents. Lady Stanworth was not present.
He glanced up as Roger entered.
“Hullo, Sheringham,” he said in some surprise. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Well, I was smoking out there in the garden with nothing to do,” Roger remarked with a friendly smile, “when it occurred to me that instead of wasting my time like that I might be giving you a hand here; you said you were up to the eyes in it. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Damned good of you,” Jefferson replied, a little awkwardly, “but I don’t really think there’s anything. I’m trying to tabulate a statement of his financial position. Something like that is sure to be wanted when the will’s proved, or whatever the rigmarole is.”
“Well, surely there’s something I can do to help you out, isn’t there?” Roger asked, sitting on a corner of the table. “Add up tremendous columns of figures, or something like that?”
Jefferson hesitated and glanced round at the papers in front of him. “Well,” he said slowly.
“Of course if there’s anything particularly private in Stanworth’s affairs—!” Roger remarked airily.
Jefferson looked up quickly. “Private? There’s nothing particularly private about them. Why should there be?”
“Then make use of me by all means, my dear chap. I’m at a loose end, and only too glad to give you a hand.”
“Of course if you put it like that, I should be only too pleased,” Jefferson replied, though not without a certain reluctance. “H’m! I was just wondering what would be the best job for you to tackle.”
“Oh, anything that comes along, you know.”
“Well, look here, I tell you what you might do,” Jefferson said suddenly. “I want a statement made out showing his holdings in the various companies of which he was a director, with the approximate value of the shares, their yield for the last financial year, his director’s fees, and all the rest of it. Manage that, could you?”
“Like a shot,” said Roger with great cheerfulness, concealing his disappointment at the comparative unimportance of the task allotted to him. Such details as these could be obtained from any work of reference on the subject; he had hoped for a little insight into something that was rather less public property.
Still, half a bun was better than no cake, and he settled down at the opposite side of the table and set to work willingly enough on the data with which Jefferson supplied him. From time to time he tried to peep surreptitiously at some of the documents in which the latter was immersed, but Jefferson was guarding them too jealously and Roger could obtain no clear idea of their contents.
An hour later he sat back in his chair with a sigh of relief.
“There you are! And a very charming and comprehensive statement, too.”
“Thanks very much,” Jefferson said, taking the statement which Roger was holding out to him. “Damned good of you, Sheringham. Saved me a lot of trouble. And you’ve done it in about a quarter of the time I should have taken. Not my sort of line, this game.”
“So I should imagine,” Roger observed with studied carelessness. “In fact, it’s always surprised me that you should have taken a job like this secretaryship on at all. I should have put you down as
