Frank Collins Richardson

“ Reggie shook his head.
"He has lately taken, or rather built, a little house in King Street, Mayfair; just near here. Didn't he tell you?"
"Never a word."
"Well, he only moved in a week ago."
"But what were you doing there? I thought that you and he were not quite . . ."
"No," said Reggie, grimly. "But he has been very good to me one way and another. He has lent me a lot of money; I wouldn't have gone to him again, but . . . the fact is I'm his valet."
The barrister gazed at him in surprise.
"I was his valet," repeated Reggie. "He engaged me as a valet." ”

“ The dead man's face was remarkably handsome. The forehead was broad, and indicative of considerable intellectual power. Strongly-marked black eyebrows jutted perhaps a little too far over the aggressive, aquiline nose. The chin was strong and determined. The close-cut, shiny black hair was silvered at the sides. But for a slight, almost dandified moustache, one would have thought that the features were those of a barrister, of an ideal barrister. ”

“ Reggie explained.
"You see it was like this, George . . . Harding. I was absolutely stony. Of course, I'd got clothes, and the run of my teeth, and so on. But I was broke to the world. Poor Clifford met me one day at Arthur's and he guessed how things were. He made me a sporting offer. He said: 'Look here, old chap, you have failed at most things. The only thing you do understand is clothes. Come and be my valet. I will give you £500 a year.' At first, I thought he was joking. But he wasn't, and he installed me in this little box of his in King Street. Only part of the house is furnished ”