"Did he say where he was going?"
"No place—in particular. He was completely fagged out. I think he went for a drive."
"And Pat? Where is she?"
"She went out about an hour ago. I begged her not to go. She's been crying all day—about her white cockatoo."
"Did she say where she was going, Miss Royce?" McGinity asked.
"She said something about the dock. What she did say was that she felt that some fresh air, and a little exercise, would do her good."
"Did she mention any particular kind of exercise?" McGinity questioned again.
"No—she merely said—oh, yes—she spoke of rowing—that was it."
"Pat's very fond of rowing," I explained to McGinity, "and frequently goes over to the island, and potters about the old lighthouse ruins." Then I turned again to Jane: "Now, Jane, tell us—what about Mr. Zzyx?"
At the mention of the creature's name, she turned more pale and sank back in the chair, gasping. I thought she was going to faint again. Between us, McGinity and I rubbed her hands and forearms briskly. Quickly rallying, she murmured, with quivering lips: "He went mad—or something—stark crazy!"