He glanced quickly at Zizi, caught the almost imperceptible motion of her own little bird claw of a hand, and then, without seeming to notice her at all, he spoke genially to the two men, and nodded sympathetically at the cook.
And they all liked him. If asked why, they could not have told, but his manner and attitude were so friendly, his mien so inoffensive and his cordial acceptance of each of them was so pleasant that he was instantly in their good graces.
Even the sheriff, who had been fully prepared to dislike and distrust this city wizard, capitulated gladly, and was ready to subscribe to all his theories, deductions and decisions.
“Too bad,” Wise said, with real feeling, as he knelt by Martha’s side. And few could have seen, unmoved, the bright young face of the strong healthy girl who had been so brutally done to death.
Gently, he lifted her chin and examined the black bruises on her throat.
“Finger-prints?” suggested Potter, eager to show the city man his familiarity with modern methods.
“Hardly,” Wise said. “I doubt much could be learned that way,—the bruise is so deep. Perhaps there may be prints of the ruffian’s hands on her clothing. You might try it out, Mr Potter.”
Then, while the two men were speaking to each other about the matter, Wise unobtrusively looked at the inside of the girl’s hands.
On the left palm he saw the long smear of dark green, and after quick but careful scrutiny, he bent lower and smelled of it. Then he closed the dead hand and rose to his feet.
“You may take away the body, Sheriff,” he said, “so far as I am concerned. She has people?”