Jennings frowned and took out the knife at which he looked.
"She knows a good deal about this affair," he murmured. "Who
is she shielding? I suspect her brother. Otherwise she would
not have hidden the knife. I wonder to whom it belongs. Here
are three notches cut in the handle--there is a stain on the
blade--blood, I suppose."
He got no further in his soliloquy, for Mrs. Octagon swept
into the room in her most impressive manner. She was calm and
cool, and her face wore a smile as she advanced to the
detective. "My dear Mr. Jennings," she said, shaking him
warmly by the hand, "I am so glad to see you, though I really
ought to be angry, seeing you came to my house so often and
never told me what you did."
"You mightn't have welcomed me had you known," said he dryly.
"I am above such vulgar prejudices," said Mrs. Octagon, waving
her hand airily, "and I am sure your profession is an arduous
one. When Juliet told me that you were looking into this
tragic death of my poor sister I was delighted. So consoling
to have to do with a gentleman in an unpleasant matter like
this. Why have you come?"
This last question was put sharply, and Mrs. Octagon fastened
her big black eyes on the calm face of the detective. "Just
to have a look at the house," he said readily, for he was
certain Juliet would not report their conversation to her
mother.
Mrs. Octagon shrugged her shoulders. "A very nice little
house, though rather commonplace in its decoration; but my
poor sister never did have much taste.
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