But
he, after a day which I knew had been a hard one, and with a
many-column story still to write, was apparently as fresh and eager
as ever.
"All right," I agreed. "If you see a light, come up. If there isn't
any light, I'll be in bed, and I'll kill you if you wake me."
"Conditions accepted," he laughed, as I opened the door for him.
Parks joined me as I turned back into the house.
"I got Rogers to bed, sir," he said. "He'll be all right in the
morning. But he's a queer duck."
"How long have you known him, Parks?"
"He's been with Mr. Vantine about five years. I don't know much about
him; he's a silent kind of fellow, keeping to hisself a good deal and
sort of brooding over things. But he did his work all right, except
once in a while when he keeled over like he did to-night."
"Parks," I said, suddenly, "I'm going to ask you a question. You know
that Mr. Vantine was a friend of mine, and I thought a great deal of
him. Now, what with this story Rogers tells, and one or two other
things, there is talk of a woman. Is there any foundation for talk of
that kind?"
"No, sir," said Parks, emphatically. "I've been Mr. Vantine's valet
for eight years and more, and in all that time he has never been
mixed up with a woman in any shape or form.
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