"Will you please give this package to Mr. Locke and Miss Brent when they come at eight?" she asked.
Winters agreed and accepted the package, looking quizzically at her as he did so, just as he had earlier in the day.
Zita, unable to control her curiosity, burst out with the question uppermost on her mind.
"Why do you look at me in such a strange manner?" she queried.
The inventor merely turned his gaze away and shrugged.
"Mr Balcom tells me that you know the secret of my birth," pressed Zita.
The inventor looked up quickly. "Who did Mr. Balcom say you were?" he asked.
"He told me that I was Brent's daughter," replied Zita, keenly watching the aged face.
"Balcom lied to you," hastened the inventor.
Already there was a ponderous tread on the stairs, but Winters did not seem to notice it.