CHAPTER VII
THE DETECTIVE
The two men looked at one another, Jennings searchingly, and Cuthbert with a look of mingled amazement and indignation. They were rather like in looks, both being tall, slim and fair-haired. But Mallow wore a mustache, whereas the detective, possibly for the sake of disguising himself on occasions, was clean-shaven. But although Jennings' profession was scarcely that of a gentleman, he looked well-bred, and was dressed with the same quiet taste and refinement as characterized Mallow. The public-school stamp was on both, and they might have been a couple of young men about town discussing sport rather than an officer of the law and a man who (it seemed from Jennings' hints) was suspected of complicity in a crime.
"Do you mean this for a jest?" said Cuthbert at length.
"I never jest on matters connected with my profession, Mallow. It is too serious a one."
"Naturally. It so often involves the issues of life and death."
"In this case I hope it does not," said Jennings, significantly.
Cuthbert, who was recovering his composure, sat down with a shrug. "I assure you, you have found a mare's nest this time. Whatever my follies may have been, I am not a criminal."
"I never thought you were," rejoined the other, also taking a seat, "but you may have become involved with people who are criminals."
"I dare say half of those one meets in society are worthy of jail, did one know what is done under the rose," returned Cuthbert; "by the way, how did you come so opportunely?"
"I knew you had gone out of town, as I came a few days ago to see you about this matter, and inquired. Your servant said you were in Devonshire – "
"I went to see my mother who was ill," said Mallow quickly.
"I guessed as much. You said something about your mother living in Exeter when we met last. Well, I had Paddington watch for your return, and my messenger – "
"Your spy, you mean," said Mallow angrily.
"Certainly, if you prefer the term. Well, your spy – I mean my spy, reported that you were back, so I came on here. Are you going out?"
"I was, but if you wish to arrest me – "
"Nonsense, man. I have only come to have a quiet chat with you. Believe me, I wish you well. I have not forgotten the old Eton days."
"I tell you what, Jennings, I won't stand this talk from any man. Are you here as a gentleman or as a detective?"
"As both, I hope," replied the other dryly, "but are we not wasting valuable time? If you wish to go out this evening, the sooner we get to business the better. Will you answer my questions?"
"I must know what they are first," said Cuthbert defiantly.
Jennings looked irritated. "If you won't treat me properly, I may as well leave the matter alone," he said coldly. "My position is quite unpleasant enough as it is. I came here to an old schoolfellow as a friend – "
"To try and implicate him in a crime. Thanks for nothing."
Jennings, whose patience appeared to be exhausted, rose. "Very well, then, Mallow. I shall go away and hand over the matter to someone else. I assure you the questions must be answered."
Cuthbert made a sign to the other to be seated, which Jennings seemed by no means inclined to obey. He stood stiffly by his chair as Mallow paced the room reflectively. "After all, I don't see why we should quarrel," said the latter at length.
"That's just what I've been driving at for the last ten minutes."
"Very good," said Mallow soothingly, "let us sit down and smoke. I have no particular engagement, and if you will have some coffee – "
"I will have both cigarette and coffee if you will help me to unravel this case," said Jennings, sitting down with a smoother brow.
"But I don't see what I can – "
"You'll see shortly. Will you be open with me?"
"That requires reflection."
"Reflect as long as you like. But if you decline, I will hand the case over to the next man on the Scotland Yard list. He may not deal with you so gently."
"I don't care how he deals with me," returned Mallow, haughtily; "having done no wrong, I am not afraid. And, what is more, Jennings, I was coming to see you as soon as I returned. You have only forestalled our interview."
"What did you wish to see me about?"
"This case," said Cuthbert, getting out a box of cigarettes and touching the bell. "The deuce!" said Jennings briskly, "then you do know something?"
Cuthbert handed him the box and gave an order for coffee. "Any liqueur?" he asked in friendly tones.
"No. I never drink when on – ah – er – pleasure," said the other, substituting another word since the servant was in the room. "Well," he asked when the door closed, "why did you wish to see me?"
"To ask if you remember a coining case that took place some twenty years ago?"
"No. That was before my time. What case is it?"
"Some people called Saul were mixed up in it."
"Humph! Never heard of them," said Jennings, lighting his cigarette, "but it is strange you should talk of coining. I and several other fellows are looking for a set of coiners now. There are a lot of false coins circulating, and they are marvellously made. If I can only lay my hands on the coiners and their factory, there will be a sensation."
"And your reputation will be enhanced."
"I hope so," replied the detective, reddening. "I want a rise in my salary, as I wish to marry. By the way, how is Miss Saxon?"
"Very well. You met her, did you not?"
"Yes! You took me to that queer house. What do they call it? the – 'Shrine of the Muses' – where all the sham art exists. Why do you look so grave, old boy?"
The two men, getting more confidential, were dropping into the language of school-days and speaking more familiarly. Mallow did not reply at once, as his servant had just brought in the coffee. But when each gentleman was supplied with a cup and they were again alone, he looked gravely at Miles. "I want to ask your advice," he said, "and if you are my friend – "
"I am, of course I am."
"Well, then, I am as interested in finding out who killed Miss Loach as you are."
"Why is that?" demanded Jennings, puzzled.
"Before I answer and make a clean breast of it, I should like you to promise that you will get no one I know into trouble."
Jennings hesitated. "That is a difficult matter. Of course, if I find the assassin, even if he or she is one of your friends, I must do my duty."
"Oh, I don't expect anything of that sort," said Mallow easily, "but why do you say 'he' or 'she'?"
"Well, the person who killed Miss Loach might be a woman."
"I don't see how you make that out," said Cuthbert reflectively. "I read the case coming up in the train to-day, and it seems to me from what The Planet says that the whole thing is a mystery."
"One which I mean to dive into and discover," replied Miles. "I do not care for an ordinary murder case, but this is one after my own heart. It is a criminal problem which I should like to work out."
"Do you see your way as yet?" asked Cuthbert.
"No," confessed Jennings, "I do not. I saw the report you speak of. The writer theorizes without having facts to go on. What he says about the bell is absurd. All the same, the bell did ring and the assassin could not have escaped at the time it sounded. Nor could the deceased have rung it. Therein lies the mystery, and I can't guess how the business was managed."
"Do you believe the assassin rang the bell?"
Miles shrugged his shoulders and sipped his coffee. "It is impossible to say. I will wait until I have more facts before me before I venture an opinion. It is only in detective novels that the heaven-born Vidocq can guess the truth on a few stray clues. But what were you going to tell me?"
"Will you keep what I say to yourself?"
"Yes," said Jennings, readily enough, "so long as it doesn't mean the escape of the person who is guilty."
"I don't ask you to betray the confidence placed in you by the authorities to that extent," said Mallow, "just wait a moment."
He leaned his chin on his hand and thought. If he wished to gain the hand of Juliet, it was necessary he should clear up the mystery of the death. Unaided, he could not do so, but with the assistance of his old schoolfellow – following his lead in fact – he might get at the truth. Then, when the name of the assassin of her sister was known, the reason of Mrs. Octagon's strange behavior might be learned, and, moreover, the discovery might remove her objection. On the other hand, Cuthbert could not help feeling uneasy, lest Mrs. Octagon had some secret connected with the death which made her refuse her consent to the match, and which, if he explained to Jennings what he knew, might become known in a quarter which she might not approve of. However, Mallow was certain that, in spite of Mrs. Octagon's hint, his uncle had nothing to do with the matter, and he had already warned her – although she refused to listen – that he intended to trace the assassin. Under these circumstances, and also because Jennings was his friend and more likely to aid him, than get anyone he knew and respected into trouble, the young man made up his mind to tell everything.
"The fact is, I am engaged to Juliet Saxon," he began, hesitatingly.
"I know that. She is the daughter of that absurd Mrs. Octagon, with the meek husband and the fine opinion of herself."
"Yes. But Juliet is the niece of Miss Loach."
"What!" Jennings sprang from his chair with a look of surprise; "do you mean to tell me that Mrs. Octagon is Miss Loach's sister."
"I do. They quarrelled many years ago, and have not been friendly for years. Mrs. Octagon would never go and see her sister, but she did not forbid her children being friendly. As you may guess, Mrs. Octagon is much distressed about the murder, but the strange thing is that she declares this death renders it impossible for me to marry her daughter."
Jennings looked searchingly at his friend. "That is strange. Does she give no reason?"
"No. But knowing my uncle knew her when she was a girl, I thought I would ask him what he thought. He told me that he had once been engaged to Miss Loach, and – "
"Well, go on," said Miles, seeing Cuthbert hesitating.
"There was another lady in the case."
"There usually is," said Jennings dryly. "Well?"
"The other lady's name was Saul – Emilia Saul."
"Oh," Miles sat down again. He had remained standing for a few moments. "Saul was the name you mentioned in connection with the coining case of twenty years ago."
Cuthbert nodded, and now, being fully convinced that he badly needed Jennings' aid, he told all that he had heard from Caranby, and detailed what his mother had said. Also, he touched on the speech of Mrs. Octagon, and repeated the warning he had given her. Miles listened quietly, but made no remark till his friend finished.
"You have told me all you know?" he asked.
"Yes. I want you to help me. Not that I think what I have learned has anything to do with the case."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Jennings musingly, his eyes on the carpet. "Mrs. Octagon bases her refusal to allow the marriage on the fact of the death. However, you have warned her, and she must take the consequence."
"But, my dear Jennings, you don't think she has anything to do with the matter. I assure you she is a good, kind woman – "
"With a violent temper, according to your mother," finished Jennings dryly. "However, don't alarm yourself. I don't think she is guilty."
"I should think not," cried Mallow, indignantly. "Juliet's mother!"
"But she may have something to do with the matter all the same. However, you have been plain with me, and I will do all I can to help you. The first thing is for us to follow up the clue of the portrait."
"Ah, yes! I had quite forgotten that," said Mallow, casting a look on the photograph which lay near at hand. "Just pass it, will you."
Miles did so. "You say you recognize it," he said.
"I recognize my own face. I had several portraits done like this. I think this one – " Mallow looked at the inscription which he read for the first time, and his face grew pale.
"What is it?" asked Miles eagerly.
"I don't know," faltered the other uneasily.
"You recognize the inscription?"
"Yes, I certainly wrote that."
"It is quite a tender inscription," said Miles, his eyes on the disturbed face of the other. "'With my dear love,' it reads."
Cuthbert laid down the portrait and nodded. "Yes! That is the inscription," he said in low tones, and his eyes sought the carpet.
"You wrote that to a servant."
"What servant?"
"The new parlor-maid engaged by Miss Loach on the day of her death – Susan Grant."
"I remember the name. I saw it in the papers."
"Do you know the girl well?" asked Jennings.
"I don't know her at all."
"Come now. A man doesn't give a portrait with such an inscription to any unknown girl, nor to one he is not in love with."
"Jennings," cried Mallow indignantly, "how can you think – " his voice died away and he clenched his hands.
"What am I to think then?" demanded the detective.
"What you like."
"That you love this Susan Grant?"
"I tell you I never set eyes on her," said Cuthbert violently.
"Then how does she come into possession of your portrait?" asked the other. Then seeing that Mallow refused to speak, he laid a persuasive hand on his shoulder. "You must speak out," he said quickly, "you have told me so much you must tell me all. Matters can't stand as they are. No," here Jennings looked straight into Mallow's eyes, "you did not give that portrait to Susan Grant."
"I never said so."
"Don't be an ass, Mallow. You say you don't know the girl, therefore you can hardly have given her the photograph. Now the inscription shows that it was given to a woman you are in love with. You told me when you introduced me to Miss Saxon that she was the only woman you ever loved. Therefore you gave this portrait with its tender inscription to her."
"I – I can't say."
"You mean you won't trust me," said Jennings.
Cuthbert rose quickly and flung off his friend's arm. "I wish to Heaven I had never opened my mouth to you," he said.
"My dear fellow, you should show more confidence in me. I know quite well why you won't acknowledge that you gave this photograph to Miss Saxon. You think it will implicate her in the matter."
"Jennings!" cried Cuthbert, his face growing red and fierce.
"Wait a moment," resumed the other calmly and without flinching. "I can explain. You gave the photograph to Miss Saxon. She gave it to Miss Loach, and Susan Grant falling in love with your face, took possession of it. It was found in her trunk."
"Yes – yes, that's it!" cried Mallow, catching at a straw. "I did give the photograph to Juliet, and no doubt she gave it to her aunt. It would be easy for this girl to take it. Though why she should steal it," said Cuthbert perplexed, "I really can't say!"
"You don't know her?" asked Jennings.
"No. Really, I don't. The name is quite unknown to me. What is the girl like in appearance?" Jennings described Susan to the best of his ability, but Cuthbert shook his head. "No, I never saw her. You say she had this photograph in her trunk?" Then, on receiving an affirmative reply, "She may have found it lying about and have taken it, though why she should I can't say."
"So you said before," said Jennings dryly. "But strange as it may appear, Mallow, this girl is in love with you."
"How do you know that?"
"Well, you see," said Miles, slowly. "After the murder I searched the boxes of the servants in the house for the weapon."
"But there was no danger of them being accused?"
"No. Nor would I have searched their boxes had they not insisted. But they were all so afraid of being accused, that they wished to exonerate themselves as much as possible. The fact that the whole four were in the kitchen together at the time the crime was committed quite clears them. However, they insisted, so I looked into their boxes. I found this photograph in the box of the new housemaid. She refused to state how it came into her possession, and became so red, and wept so much, that I soon saw that she loved you."
"But I tell you it's ridiculous. I don't know the girl – and a servant, too. Pshaw!"
"Well, then, I must get her to see you, and possibly some explanation may be made. I took possession of the photograph – "
"Why? On what grounds should my photograph interest you, Jennings?"
"On the grounds that you are a friend of mine, and that I knew your face the moment I saw it. I naturally asked the girl how it came into her possession, as I know your tastes don't lie in the way of pretty parlor-maids, however attractive. It was her reply which made me take the portrait and come to ask you for an explanation."
"What reply did she make?" demanded Cuthbert, exasperated by the false position he was placed in.
"She said that she would explain nothing in case you should get into trouble with the police. Can you explain that?"
"No," said Mallow, perplexed. "I really cannot be responsible for the vagaries of a parlor-maid. I don't know the name Susan Grant, and from your description of her appearance, I never set eyes on her. I am quite sure your explanation is the correct one. Juliet gave it to her aunt, and for some ridiculous reason this girl stole it."
"But her remark about the police."
Mallow made a gesture of helplessness, and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. "I can't guess what she means. Well, what will you do now, Jennings?"
"First, I shall get the girl to come here and see you. Then I shall ask Miss Saxon why she gave the photograph to Miss Loach. You were not a favorite with the old lady, I gather."
"On the contrary, she liked me much more than I did her."
"You see. She liked you so much that she insisted on having your photograph. I must ask Miss Saxon when she gave it. Will you let me bring this girl to see you to-morrow?"
"Certainly. But it's all very unpleasant."
The detective rose to go. "Most matters connected with a crime are, my dear fellow," said he calmly. "I only hope there will not be any more unpleasantness."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't say what I mean – yet."
"You are mysterious, Jennings."
"I am perplexed. I don't seem to advance. However, I intend to follow up the clue of your photograph, though if the explanation I suggest is the true one, there's nothing more to be said. But the girl, Susan Grant, has not the look of a thief."
"That means, I gave her the photograph," said Cuthbert haughtily.
"Not necessarily," rejoined Jennings, putting on his overcoat. "But I will not theorize any more. Wait till I confront the girl with you in a few days. Then we may force her to speak."
Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. "As you please. But I really am at a loss to think what she will say."
"So am I," said Jennings, as they walked to the door. "That is why I am anxious to see her and you together. And, after all, I may have found only a mare's nest."
"You certainly have so far as I am concerned. By the way, when is the body to be buried?"
"The day after to-morrow. Then the will has to be read. I hope the old lady will leave you some money, Mallow. She was reported to be rich. Oh, by the way, I'll look up that Saul coining case you speak of."
"Why?" asked Mallow, bluntly and uneasily.
"It may have some bearing on this matter. Only in the past will we find the truth. And Miss Selina Loach certainly knew Miss Saul."
As Jennings departed the postman came up the stairs with the late letters. Cuthbert found one from Juliet and opened it at once. It contained one line —
"Don't see the police about aunt's death – JULIET."
Cuthbert Mallow slept very badly that night.
CHAPTER VIII
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE
The most obvious thing for Cuthbert to do was to seek Juliet and ask for an explanation of her mysterious note. He went to the "Shrine of the Muses" the very next day, but was informed that Miss Saxon and her mother had gone out of town and would not be back for a few days. He could not learn where they were, and was leaving the house somewhat disconsolately when he met Basil.
"You here, Mallow," said that young gentleman, stopping short, "have you been to see my mother?"
"I went to see Juliet," replied Cuthbert, not sorry that the meeting had taken place, "but I hear she is out of town."
"Well, not exactly. The fact is, she and my mother have gone down to Rose Cottage and intend to stop there until the funeral is over and the will is read."
"The will?" echoed Mallow.
"Yes. Aunt Selina is likely to leave a great deal of money. I expect it will all go to Juliet. She never liked me."
"Yet you were frequently at her house."
"I was," confessed Basil candidly. "I tried to make myself as civil as possible, so that she might remember me. Between ourselves, Mallow, I am deuced hard up. My mother hasn't much money, I have none of my own, and old Octagon is as stingy as he well can be."
This sounded well coming from an idler who never did a stroke of work, and who lived on the charity of his step-father. But Basil had peculiar views as to money. He considered himself a genius, and that Peter should be proud to support him until, as he phrased it, he had "stamped his name on the age"! But the stamping took a long time, and Basil troubled himself very little about the matter. He remarked that genius should not be forced, and loafed away the greater portion of his days. His mother kept him in pocket-money and clothes, Peter supplied board and lodging, and Basil got through life very pleasantly. He wished to be famous, to have his name in every mouth and his portrait in every paper; but the work that was necessary to obtain these desirable things he was unwilling to do. Cuthbert knew that the young fellow had been "born tired"! and although something of an idler himself, liked Basil none the more for his laziness. Had Mallow been poor he would certainly have earned his bread, but he had a good income and did not work. And, after all, he only pursued the way of life in which he had been brought up. But Basil was poor and had his career to make, therefore he certainly should have labored. However, for Juliet's sake, Cuthbert was as polite as possible.
"If I were you, Saxon, I should leave cards alone," said Mallow.
"Nonsense! I don't play high. Besides, I have seen you at Maraquito's also losing a lot."
"I can afford to lose," said Cuthbert dryly, "you can't."
"No, by Jove, you're right there. But don't preach, Mallow, you ain't such a saint yourself."
"Can I help you with a cheque?"
Basil had good breeding enough to color.
"No! I didn't explain myself for that," he said coldly, "and besides, if Juliet comes in for Aunt Selina's money, I'll get some. Juliet and I always share."
This meant that Juliet was to give the money and Basil to spend it. Mallow was disgusted with this candid selfishness. However, he did not wish to quarrel with Basil, as he knew Juliet was fond of him, and moreover, in the present state of affairs, he was anxious to have another friend besides Mr. Octagon in the house. "Perhaps Miss Loach may have left you some money after all," he remarked.
"By Jove, I hope so. I'll be in a hole if she has not. There's a bill – " here he stopped, as though conscious of having said too much. "But that will come into Juliet's possession," he murmured.
"What's that?" asked Cuthbert sharply.
"Nothing – nothing – only a tailor's bill. As to getting money by the will, don't you know I quarrelled with Aunt Selina a week before her death. Yes, she turned me out of the house." Here Basil's face assumed what may be described as an ugly look. "I should like to have got even with the old cat. She insulted me."
"Gently, old fellow," said Mallow, seeing that Basil was losing his temper, and having occasionally seen him in fits of uncontrollable passion, "we're in the public street."
Basil's brow cleared. "All right," he said, "don't bother, I'll be all right when Juliet gets the money. By the way, mother tells me you are not going to marry her."
"Your mother is mistaken," rejoined Mallow gravely. "Juliet and I are still engaged. I do not intend to give her up."
"I told mother you would not give in easily," said Basil, frowning, "but you can't marry Juliet."
"Why not?" asked Cuthbert sharply; "do you know the reason?"
Basil appeared about to say something, then suddenly closed his mouth and shook his head.
Cuthbert pressed him. "If you know the reason, tell me," he said, "and I'll help you out of your difficulties. You know I love Juliet, and your mother does not seem to have any excuse to forbid the marriage."
"I would help you if I could, but I can't. You had better ask Juliet herself. She may tell you the reason."
"How can I find her?"
"Go down to Rose Cottage and ask to see her," suggested Basil.
"Your mother will not admit me."
"That's true enough. Well, I'll tell you what, Mallow, I'll speak to Juliet and get her to make an appointment to see you."
"I could write and ask her for one myself."
"Oh, no, you couldn't. Mother will intercept all letters."
"Upon my word – " began Mallow angrily, then stopped. It was useless to show his wrath before this silly boy, who could do no good and might do a deal of harm. "Very well, then," he said more mildly, "ask Juliet to meet me on the other side of Rexton, under the wall which runs round the unfinished house."
Basil started. "Why that place?" he asked nervously.
"It is as good as any other."
"You can't get inside."
"That's true enough. But we can meet outside. I have been inside though, and I made a mess of myself climbing the wall."
"You were inside," began Basil, then suddenly appeared relieved. "I remember; you were there on the day after Aunt Selina was killed."
"I have been there before that," said Cuthbert, wondering why the young man avoided his eye in so nervous a manner.
"Not at – at night?" murmured Saxon, looking away.
"Once I was there at night. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing – nothing. I was just thinking it's a wild place in which to find one's self at night. By the way," added Basil, as though anxious to change a disagreeable subject, "do you think Jarvey Hale a nice fellow?"
"No, I don't. I have met him at Maraquito's, and I don't like him. He's a bounder. Moreover, a respectable lawyer has no right to gamble to the extent he does. I wonder Miss Loach trusted him."
"Perhaps she didn't know of his gambling," said Basil, his eyes wandering everywhere but to the face of his companion; "but, should you think Hale would be hard on a fellow?"
"Yes, I should. Do you owe him money?"
"A few pounds. He won't give me time to pay. And I say, Mallow, I suppose all Aunt Selina's affairs will be left in Hale's hands?"
"I can't say. It depends upon the will. If everything is left to Juliet, unconditionally, she may take her affairs out of Hale's hands. I should certainly advise her to do so. He's too intimate with Maraquito and her gambling salon to be a decent lawyer."
"You do seem down on gambling," said Basil, "yet you gamble yourself a lot. But I expect Juliet will change her lawyer. I hope she will."
"Why?" asked Cuthbert sharply.
"Oh," replied Basil, confused, "because I agree with you. A gambler will not make a good lawyer – or a good husband either," he added in an abrupt tone. "Good-day. I'll tell Juliet," and he was off before Mallow could find words to answer his last remark.
Cuthbert, walking back to his rooms, wondered if it was on account of the gambling that Mrs. Octagon objected to the marriage. He really did not gamble much, but occasionally he dropped into Maraquito's house, and there lost or won a few pounds. Here he had often met Basil, and without doubt the young man had told his mother. But he could hardly do this without incriminating himself. All the same, Basil was a thorough liar, and a confirmed tattler. He might have blackened Mallow's character, and yet have told a story to exonerate himself. His friendship appeared feigned, and Cuthbert doubted if he would really tell Juliet of the appointment.
"That young man's in trouble," thought Mallow, "he is anxious about Hale, and I shouldn't wonder if that respectable person had lent him a large sum of money. Probably he counts on getting the money from Juliet, should she inherit the fortune of Miss Loach. Also he seems annoyed that I should have been in Caranby's unfinished house at night. I wonder what he would say if he knew my reason for going there. Humph! I must keep that quiet. The only person I dare tell is Juliet; but I can't speak to her about the matter just yet. And after all, there is no need to mention my visit. It does not concern her in the least. I wonder," here Cuthbert stopped, struck with an idea. "By George! can it be that Basil was near Rose Cottage on the night the crime was committed? Juliet may know that, and so, fearful lest he should be accused of the murder, asked me to stop proceedings. Can Basil Saxon be guilty? No," Mallow shook his head and resumed his walk, "he has not pluck enough to kill a fly."
After this he dismissed the matter from his thoughts and waited expectant of a letter from Juliet. None came, and he was convinced that Basil had not delivered the message. This being the case, Cuthbert determined to act for himself, and one afternoon went down to Rexton. That same evening he had an appointment with Jennings, who was to bring Susan Grant to Mallow's rooms. But the young man quite expected to be back in time to keep the appointment, and meantime he spent an hour wandering round Rexton in the vicinity of Rose Cottage. But afraid lest Mrs. Octagon should see him and keep Juliet within doors, he abstained from passing in front of the house and waited on the path which led to the station.
While watching the cottage, a young woman came along the path. She was neatly dressed and looked like a servant. Cuthbert pressed himself against the quickset hedge to allow her to pass, as there was very little room. The girl started as she murmured her thanks, and grew crimson on seeing his face. Cuthbert, not thinking, gave a passing thought to her looks and wondered why she had blushed. But when he saw her enter the gate of Rose Cottage – she looked back twice – he recalled the description of Jennings.