“Juliette! Are you there?”
No answer.
“Juliette, I say!”
Again no answer. His heart almost stopped. He opened the door and entered the room. It was empty, but already the bed had been made and everything tidied. He penetrated to the dressing-room, which was equally neat and equally empty.
Then he searched the house and the premises; he searched everywhere except in the little outhouse wherein was hidden the corpse of the drunken man. At length, after a futile cross-examination of the cook in the kitchen, he perceived that the scullery-maid, in the scullery was surreptitiously beckoning to him.
This ungainly chit, Polly, whose person was only kept presentable by the ceaseless efforts of Juliette, had red hair, rather less red than Carpentaria’s, and she worshipped him afar off. She had that “cult” for him which very humble servants do sometimes entertain for masters who never even throw them a glance. And now she was beckoning to him and making eyes!
He followed her through the scullery into the yard.
“Do you want mistress, sir?” asked Polly in a whisper.
“Yes.”
“Well, she’s over the wye, sir.”