“I know! To the person herself! Well, go on, if you can get to her undiscovered!” “I can! With no trouble at all!” “Not forgetting the danger you run of being arrested?” “Danger! Pooh! You can’t scare me that way? Beside, you’ll never know——” “Who the person is? I know already. Kate Holland!” This was a mere guess on Zizi’s part, and she said it to learn from Molly’s expression how near right it might be. To her surprise, Molly looked mystified. “Kate Holland!” she whispered. “You—you don’t suspect her, do you?” “Do you?” Zizi shot back. “Yes, I do,—or I did, until——” “Until you saw the person?” “Yes, that’s it.” Zizi was about to insist on the name of the person when there was a tap at the door, and the head chambermaid insisted on having the services of Molly at once. The girl went away and Zizi went straight to tell Penny Wise all about it. She tried the door of Wise’s rooms and as the knob turned she walked in. But to her surprise the man sitting at the table in the sitting-room, and reading the newspaper, was not Wise but Mr Vail. “Good afternoon,” he said, a little blankly, as he rose. “How do you do?” Zizi returned, with one of her attractive smiles. “I’m Mr Wise’s assistant. Can I do anything for you?” “I’m waiting here in hope he’ll come in. I’m Vail,—I’ve rooms on the tenth. You may have heard of me; I’m interested in the Binney case, and I’d like a little talk with Mr Wise,—that is, if he cares for it.” “He will,” and Zizi nodded confidently. “Have you any knowledge, suspicion or evidence?” “None of those important commodities,—merely straws that may or may not show the direction of the wind.” “There’s no knowing when Mr Wise will show up,” Zizi observed; “don’t you want to tell me? It’ll be all the same.” “All the same! Are you and Mr Wise partners?” Zizi flashed her best smile as she returned, “Practically. I’m only assistant, but what is told to me goes to him just as I get it.” “Accurate and careful, eh? Well, my information is regarding a woman I saw skulking in the halls the night of the murder. You see, it chanced that I came into the house and up in the elevator just before the tragedy occurred. I stood a few minutes at my door, before leaving the car, because Bob Moore and I were discussing the book he was reading. He’s a good sort, and often when I come in late I give him a jolly to help along his weary watch hours.” “All right,” chirped Zizi, “what followed?” “Only that as we came up I heard some one on the stairs. They surround the elevator, you know, and though indistinct, I know I heard a tread on the stairs as we were at or near the eighth floor. But we came on up and then, as I say, we stood a bit talking. Then Moore went down again, and I, feeling curious about the footsteps on the stairs, went around to the staircase and looked down.” “How far could you see?”