“Here’s something, Penny,” Zizi said, appearing suddenly at his elbow. “I’ve found a stain on my frock that’s exactly like the one we noticed on poor Martha’s hand.”
“What?”
“Yes, a green stain,—a long swish, as of green paint,—but it isn’t paint.”
Zizi held up a little linen frock that she sometimes wore mornings.
On the side, down near the hem, was a green smear, and it was similar in appearance to the strange mark on the hand of the dead girl.
“Where’d it come from?” asked Wise, shortly.
“I don’t know, but it’s the dress I wore when I was exploring the cellar, and it got pretty dirty.”
“Been washed?”
“No, I shook off and brushed off most of the dirt, but this stain stuck, and wouldn’t brush off. That’s how I noticed it.”
“Coincidence, I’m afraid. Or maybe Martha went down cellar that night for something.”