"Well, since eight A.M. I've been holdin' up this door, waitin' for yer honor to pass by. An' I got you, didn't I?"
"Yes, I'm here." I stepped inside and the boy closed the door. We went into the front basement room, where there was a lighted gas stove.
"I camp here, 'count o' the heats. There's no use gettin' up the steam fer the few casual callers that drops in at present. Now, Mr. Calhoun, I don't want to be stuffy nor nuthin', but Mr. Stone said I might ask you some few things, if I liked an' you can answer or not, as you like. This ain't no orficial investigation, but I s'pose you're as intrusted as anybody in findin' this here Victoria Van Allen?"
"I'm interested in finding the murderer of Mr. Schuyler," I replied.
"An' maybe they ain't one an' the same. That's so." He spoke thoughtfully and scanned my face with a quizzical glance. "But, of course, Mr. Stone'll find out. Now, Mr. Calhoun, if you don't mind, will you give me a line on that maid person, that Julia?"
"Julie, she is called."
"All right, Julie goes. Is she a young thing?"
"No; just this side of middle-aged. Probably thirty-five or so."
"Good looker?"
"Why, about average. Brown hair, brownish eyes—really, I never noticed her closely enough to think about her appearance. She is, I'm sure, a good servant and devoted to Miss Van Allen."