Maida was still in the kitchen when I passed it again and I stopped. She was washing her slim, pink fingers vigorously.
“Eleven does get hungry at the most erratic times. He wants beef tea now and an hour ago he had malted milk,” she said, drying her hands.
“Mr. Gainsay did not leave Friday after all,” I said, coming directly to one of the things that troubled me.
She glanced swiftly toward me, lifted her straight black eyebrows a little, and spoke rather coolly.
“Evidently not. He said his boat did not sail till next week. Is this beef extract fresh?”
“I think so. I suppose he is quite a comfort to Corole.”
“Corole needs friends at a time like this,” said Maida.
“Of course, he was such a good friend of Dr.—Letheny.” For the life of me I could not speak that name naturally and easily.
“Yes,” agreed Maida briefly. She turned to the stove, lit the gas flame, and held a small saucepan of water over the blue points of fire. I could not see her face.
“Maida,” I said abruptly, “when did you last see Dr. Letheny—alive?”