"He doesn't seem to have lost the habit. Is Janet a tall thin woman who wears steel-rimmed glasses?"
"Yes. You noticed her in the kitchen this morning, didn't you? She told me you went through that way."
"Has she been with you long?"
"Twenty-five years. She came here as a sort of companion-maid to my sister and me a few years before my father's death. She was very fond of Lucy, but she didn't care so much for Simon, so when I went East I took her with me. We've been together ever since."
"No need to ask, then, if you trust her."
"Trust her! Trust Janet?" Miss Ocky's voice was warm. "I'd trust her with my life!"
Creighton dropped the subject, but added another fragment to the data he was compiling. Janet, the nondescript lady, didn't care much for Varr, and was acquainted with Charlie Maxon. Important? Um—too soon to say. He concentrated his attention once more on his search.
"Nothing," he finally announced briefly. He rose as he spoke—he had been on his hands and knees the better to examine the floor in front of the desk—and shrugged his shoulders philosophically. "Said I expected as much, didn't I? Now for that window in the living-room."
Krech had finished his story and Miss Ocky was looking at the detective with considerable interest and some respect.
"That was clever of you to notice the shallowness of the footprints," she said. "And your deductions from them and the note are quite shrewd. A small educated man instead of a large illiterate one?"