“What—what does it matter? Why do you want to know?”
She seemed to the detective to be turning something over in her mind, and he at once assumed that she was trying to invent a plausible story to account for the mark on her hand.
“I’m sure you may guess, Miss, that it is not my business to put you to inconvenience by asking unnecessary questions; but, of course, if you refuse to answer, I can’t make you. Do you refuse?”
“Oh, no, certainly not,” she replied, quickly. “I was doing some ironing, and the iron touched my hand, and burned it.”
“And when did this happen, Miss?”
Again the girl hesitated. The detective took note of this fact also. He repeated his question.
“To-day; this morning.”
“I believe, Miss, you were not here this morning?”
“I was not in this house.”
“Have you any objection to tell me where you were, Miss?”