There was a long wait before it was opened, and then a negress, as black as the proverbial ace of spades, appeared so suddenly that Nick was startled, for he had not heard her approach. She peered out at him after throwing the door widely ajar. “Hello, auntie!” he exclaimed. “Can you take in a traveler, and give him something to eat, and a bed for the night?” “I reckon so. Yassir. Come right in. You is welcome. Dar ain’t nobody home ‘ceptin’ me an’ dat good-for-nothin’ nigger, Henery, but I reckon we can make you comfortable; yassir.” “Isn’t your mistress at home?” asked Nick, remembering what Henry had said on that point. “No, sah. We is de onliest ones to home, jes now. Come in, sah. Mistuh Dinwiddie, he’s in de Norf somewheres—I dunno whar—and de missus she’s in de Souf somewheres—I can’t jes’ tell you where, and we is de onliest ones yere; dat’s a fact.” “But Uncle Henery said that Mrs. Dinwiddie was at home,” said Nick, entering the house. “Huh! You mustn’t mind what dat lyin’ nigger done tell you, sah. He’s suttinly de biggest liah dis side uh de Rappahannock, dat’s what he is. Now, sah, you jes’ make yo’self comftil till I rustles yo’ somethin’ to eat.” Before the detective could say another word she had taken herself off, leaving him alone in the room into which he had been ushered, where a single kerosene lamp, heavily shaded, burned upon a centre table. “So,” he mused to himself, “Juno is at home; and Juno is not at home. Well, we will see about that, presently.” CHAPTER XVII. JUNO. The house remained silent while Nick Carter waited. Indeed there was barely a sound to be heard at all, even from without, so remote was the place, for Kingsgift, comprising more than eight hundred acres of land, much of it forest, was bounded on three sides by water, and on the fourth by a narrow neck of land only, so that the nearest neighbor, save for the negro tenants, lived several miles distant. While the time passed during which the negress was preparing food for the detective, he amused himself by inspecting the room in which he waited. It was evidently a reception room, used only for the accommodations of people like Nick Carter, who appeared there without any definite purpose—apparently—and presently went on their ways again, never to be heard of more. After a time the negress reappeared and invited him to follow her; and he was conducted to the spacious dining room where Liza had spread food enough for three hungry men. “It’s on’y jes’ a cold snack, honey,” she said apologetically, “but it sure was de bestes’ I cud do on so short notice. Dar ain many strangers what gits in h’yere from de main road. It suttinly is clar-to-goodnes clean off’n de trabbled road.” “So your master isn’t at home, eh?” said the detective, helping himself to the good things before him. “No, sah, dat he ain’t.” “And your mistress is away, too?” “Yassir; yassir. She done gone away, too.”