"Did you notice the young lady particularly? If not, I'll describe her to you. She was rather short—petite is the word. She had dark hair and dark eyes, and she was dressed quietly."
A change had come over the woman. Her eyes stared; her cheeks were now grey; and her breathing had become audible.
"Now, Mrs. Platz," demanded Vance sharply, "what have you to say?"
She drew a deep breath.
"There wasn't anybody here," she said doggedly. There was something almost admirable in her obstinacy.
Vance considered a moment. Markham was about to speak, but evidently thought better of it, and sat watching the woman fixedly.
"Your attitude is understandable," Vance observed finally. "The young lady, of course, was well known to you, and you had a personal reason for not wanting it known she was here."
At these words she sat up straight, a look of terror in her face.
"I never saw her before!" she cried; then stopped abruptly.
"Ah!" Vance gave her an amused leer. "You had never seen the young lady before—eh, what? . . . That's quite possible. But it's immaterial. She's a nice girl, though, I'm sure—even if she did have a dish of tea with your employer alone in his home."
"Did she tell you she was here?" The woman's voice was listless. The reaction to her tense obduracy had left her apathetic.
