Jennings said no more, but secretly wondered why Thomas had gone to visit Mrs. Herne.  He determined to call on that lady at once and see if he could learn what message Thomas had taken her and from whom.  But he had not much time for thought as Mrs. Pill opened a door to the right of a narrow passage and pushed him in.  “An’ now I’ll go back to my dustin’,” said the cook, hurrying away.

Jennings found himself face to face with Juliet.  She was standing on a chair with her hand up on the cornice.  As soon as she saw him she came down with rather a white face.  The room was filled with trunks and large deal boxes, and some were open, revealing clothes.  Dust lay thick on others apparently locked, and untouched for many years.  The light filtered into the dusty attic through a dirty window, and the floor was strewn with straw and other rubbish.  Miss Saxon did not know the detective and her face resumed its normal color and expression.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked, casting a nervous look at the cornice.

Jennings removed his hat.  “I beg your pardon,” he said politely.  “Mrs. Pill showed me up here when I asked to see you.”

“She had no right,” said Juliet, looking at her dress, which was rather dusty, “come downstairs and tell me who you are.”

She appeared anxious to get him out of the room, and walked before him out of the door.  As she passed through Jennings contrived to shut it as though her dress had caught the lower part.  Then he lightly turned the key.  He could hear Juliet fumbling at the lock.  “What is the matter?” she called through.

“The lock has got hampered in some way,” said Jennings, rattling the key, “one moment, I’ll look at it carefully.”

As he said this he made one bound to the chair upon which she had been standing and reached his hand to the cornice at which she had looked.  Passing his hand rapidly along it came into contact with an object long and sharp.  He drew it down.  It was a brand-new knife of the sort called bowie.  Jennings started on seeing this object, but having no time to think (for he did not wish to rouse her suspicions), he slipped the knife in his vest and ran again to the door.  After a lot of ostentatious fumbling he managed to turn the key again and open the door.  Juliet was flushed and looked at him angrily.  But she cast no second look at the cornice, which showed Jennings that she did not suspect his ruse.

“Your dress caught the door and shut it,” he explained, “the lock seems to be out of order.”

“I never knew it was,” said Juliet, examining it; “it always locked easy enough before.”

“Hum,” thought Jennings, “so you have been here before and you have kept the door locked on account of the knife probably,” but he looked smilingly at the girl all the time.

“I am sorry,” he said, when she desisted from her examination.

“It’s my fault,” said Juliet unsuspiciously, and closed the door.  She led the way along the passage and down the stairs.  “Who are you?” she asked, turning round half way down.