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grinding it to ashes on the floor.
    Mr. Binder was in his office, rocking to and fro in a massive swivel chair. He was a florid man with his sideburns done in the modern style of hairdressing, which made him resemble a butler himself. He, too, eyed his visitors up and down as though measuring them for a job. He had two voices, one for employers and the other for employees. He decided that the former was best for the police. Such visits were very rare as Binder’s was a most respectable agency and Mr. Binder flattered himself that he could sort the wheat of domestic service from the chaff.
    â€˜What can I do for you, gentlemen? We haven’t been breaking the law, I hope,’ he said in his most lathery tone.
    Littlejohn left him to Cromwell.
    â€˜I believe, Mr. Binder, that you are in the habit of supplying temporary maids to Mrs. Havenith, of
The Limes
.…’
    â€˜Tolham,’ said Mr. Binder to show that he knew all about it. ‘That is so, we have that honour.’
    â€˜This you have done over the past few …’
    â€˜â€¦ weeks,’ added Mr. Binder. ‘That is so. They all finished a few days ago. Four of them. Young ladies. Excellent.’
    â€˜Could you give us their names and addresses?’
    Mr. Binder turned pale and rocked to and fro, as though it comforted him.
    â€˜I hope none of them has misbehaved.’
    â€˜No. There’s only been a murder next door. We’reseeking anyone who might have been at
The Limes
when it occurred.’
    â€˜Oh, dear! Tragic. I hope none of our clients did it.’
    â€˜Of course not!’
    Mr. Binder opened a drawer in his desk, took out a bottle and a small medicine glass, and gave himself a drink. There was a smell of brandy on the air.
    â€˜Pardon me, I’ve had a coronary recently,’ he said putting the bottle away, having thus excused himself for not asking his visitors to share.
    Then his face lit up.
    â€˜Excuse me,’ he said again and rang a bell on his desk. The frightened receptionist appeared and looked frantically at her employer, as though he’d been arrested and was ready to leave her in charge of the business.
    â€˜Miss Buttress,’ he said to her. ‘Is Miss Marlene Blower still waiting?’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Ask her to step this way, please.’
    â€˜I didn’t want to interview her here,’ said Cromwell, nettled. ‘All I asked for was names and addresses.’
    But it was too late. Miss Blower was ushered in. She looked first at Littlejohn and then at Cromwell and gave Mr. Binder an appealing look as though they’d come to hire her for some dire purpose.
    â€˜These gentlemen are from the police,’ said Mr. Binder.
    Miss Blower thereupon fainted and fell on the floor.

Chapter 5

An Inspector Vanishes
    It was difficult to know whether Miss Blower’s fainting fit was spontaneous or phony and it would have needed an expert with appropriate apparatus to make sure. However, it gave Marlene time to recover her aplomb and after a couple of healthy swigs at Mr. Binder’s brandy, which he surrendered reluctantly, she apologised profusely for causing a commotion, said she’s never done it in her life before, and would never do it again. She expressed herself quite ready to listen to what the police had to say.
    â€˜I hope I haven’t done anything wrong,’ she said anxiously. ‘My conscience is clear.…’
    Cromwell reassured her.
    â€˜Have you a private room, where we could interview Miss Blower without taking up more of your own time?’ he asked Mr. Binder, who seemed very relieved by the request and said it would be a pleasure. He thereupon took a large key from his desk, opened a door on his right with it, and led them in.
    The place looked like a private chapel of some undertaker or strict religious sect. There were rows of metal and canvas chairs spread about and, at the head of the array, areading desk