“My assistant,” Wise said, carelessly. “Name, Zizi. Give her over to the housekeeper, she’ll take care of herself. Where’s the library—or living room?”
Quite apparently tired from the steep walk up the cliff, Wise sank into a chair that Rodney placed for him. They stayed in the hall, which was large and square, and was often used as a sitting room.
Zizi, however, dropping her bag in the hall, darted toward the dining room and thence to the kitchen.
“Oh,” she cried, to Hannah, “are you the cook? Do give me some tea and toast or something,—I’m famished! My heavens! Who’s that?”
Zizi bent over the dead girl, whose body still lay on the kitchen floor.
Martha was clad only in a kimono, over her nightdress, and wore bedroom slippers but no stockings.
“Hopped out of bed and ran down suddenly, didn’t she?” commented the strange girl. “Didn’t even stop to pin up her hair. Must have heard somebody that she was pretty sure was burglaring, or she wouldn’t have run down again on the chance of its being Mrs Varian the second time.”
“How do you know all about it?” asked Hannah, aghast, at the remarkable person that had invaded her kitchen. “But you’re right! Martha was too cute to be caught in a mistake twice,—she must have been sure it was not Mrs Varian again!”
“Your chauffeur, who met us at the train, told us about this poor girl.” Zizi’s black eyes snapped as she delicately touched the awful bruises on Martha’s throat. “Small doubt what did for her! Brute!”
Kneeling down, she ran her tiny fingers lightly over the body, and finally scrutinized the hands.