I had, of course, carefully scrutinised all the members of the household.
One or two of the servants had been newly engaged, one of the footmen, I think, and some of the housemaids.
The butler, the housekeeper, and the chef were the duke's own staff, who had consented to remain on in the establishment.
The housemaids I dismissed as unimportant; I scrutinised James, the second footman, very carefully; but it was clear that he was an under-footman and an under-footman only.
He had, indeed, been engaged by the butler.
A person of whom I was far more suspicious was Deaves, Ryland's valet, whom he had brought over from New York with him.
An Englishman by birth, with an irreproachable manner, I yet harboured vague suspicions about him.
I had been at Hatton Chase three weeks, and not an incident of any kind had arisen which I could lay my finger on in support of our theory.
There was no trace of the activities of the Big Four.
Mr. Ryland was a man of overpowering force and personality, but I was coming to believe that Poirot had made a mistake when he associated him with that dread organisation.
I even heard him mention Poirot in a casual way at dinner one night.
"Wonderful little man, they say.
But he's a quitter.
How do I know?
I put him on a deal, and he turned me down the last minute.
I'm not taking any more of your Monsieur Hercule Poirot."
It was at moments such as these that I felt my cheek pads most wearisome!
And then Miss Martin told me a rather curious story.
Ryland had gone to London for the day, taking Appleby with him.
Miss Martin and I were strolling together in the garden after tea.
I liked the girl very much, she was so unaffected and so natural.
I could see that there was something on her mind, and at last out it came.
"Do you know. Major Neville," she said, "I am really thinking of resigning my post here."
I looked somewhat astonished, and she went on hurriedly.
"Oh!
I know it's a wonderful job to have got, in a way.
I suppose most people would think me a fool to throw it up.
But I can't stand abuse, Major Neville.
To be sworn at like a trooper is more than I can bear.
No gentleman would do such a thing."
"Has Ryland been swearing at you?"
She nodded.
"Of course, he's always rather irritable and short-tempered.
That one expects.
It's all in the day's work.
But to fly into such an absolute fury - over nothing at all.
He really looked as though he could have murdered me!
And, as I say, over nothing at all!"
"Tell me about it?" I said, keenly interested.
"As you know, I open all Mr. Ryland's letters.
Some I hand on to Mr. Appleby, others I deal with myself, but I do all the preliminary sorting.
Now there are certain letters that come, written on blue paper, and with a tiny 4 marked on the corner - I beg your pardon, did you speak?"
I had been unable to repress a stifled exclamation, but I hurriedly shook my head, and begged her to continue.
"Well, as I was saying, these letters come, and there are strict orders that they are never to be opened, but to be handed over to Mr. Ryland intact.
And, of course, I always do so.
But there was an unusually heavy mail yesterday morning, and I was opening the letters in a terrific hurry.
By mistake I opened one of these letters.
As soon as I saw what I had done, I took it to Mr. Ryland and explained.
To my utter amazement he flew into the most awful rage.
As I tell you, I was quite frightened."