Luigi thought a moment. "On the lower flounces, as if her skirts had brushed against the—the victim, when she stooped over him."
"Did she herself observe these stains?"
"Yes; she looked at them, and looked frightened and then she ran to the hall."
"And you saw no other person near?"
"None."
"And heard nobody?"
"I heard only the voices from the parlor. There was much noise of laughter and talk there."
No amount of questioning could change or add to Luigi's story. It was quite evident that he was telling just what he saw, and had no interest in coloring it to make it appear different in any way. He admired Miss Van Allen, he said she was a pleasant lady and not hard to please if her orders were faithfully carried out. He expressed no personal interest in the question of her guilt or innocence, he simply told what he had seen. I didn't altogether like his stolid indifference, it seemed impossible there should be so little humanity in a fellow-being, but I knew he was a good and conscientious waiter, and I concluded he was nothing more.
I went home, and, of course, was met by Aunt Lucy and Winnie with a perfect storm of questions.
"After dinner," I begged. "Let me get a little rest and food, and then
I'll tell you all I know."