“Look here, Maggie, you were the greatest help yesterday, and now I'm trying to find out more about Saturday afternoon itself. I can promise you that anything you say to me won't get to the housekeeper's ears; but were you ironing _all_ Saturday afternoon? Come, now, I know that you _do_ act as maid to Miss Leslie.” “Oh! she promised me not to tell—” began Maggie in a frightened voice. “Weren't you part of the time in No. 12? It's your duty to speak up, you know, and I've told you that it shan't get you into any trouble.” She hesitated, then she began to cry. “Oh, I know I ought to've told. I would have—I would have, reely, only for that dragon. You see, sir, I got the housekeeper to let me off part of the ironing on Saturday because of a headache, but after I'd laid down a bit it passed off, and I remembered a dress Miss Leslie particular wanted mended. So I didn't see why I shouldn't do it instead. What I mean to say, sewing isn't like ironing, is it, sir?” Pointer said it sounded to him like a totally distinct form of occupation. Maggie dried her eyes and began to recover her _aplomb_. “What time did you go to Miss Leslie's room?” He saw her eyes waver, and steadied her with, “It won't go any further, you know.” “Well, it was about ten past three, as near as might be, I suppose.” From her half-sheepish tone he guessed that the lying-down had been more mental than physical. “And you were in the room till six?” “Well-l, about that.” She gave her head a little toss. “I can't think how you nosed it out.” Then her tone melted: “But there, I've wanted to tell you about it, only I didn't dare. What I mean is, if the housekeeper knew of my arrangement with Miss Leslie—” She paused. “Tell me what you heard or saw on Saturday.” His tone invited confidences. “Well, I only heard Mr. Eames moving about, and then I heard the clink of a glass on the marble washstand. I knew what that was—he was taking his tonic as I'd seen him do in the morning the day before. Very regular in his habits he was—the poor young gentleman.” Pointer leant forward in his chair. “Maggie, shut your eyes and think yourself back again in Miss Leslie's room. Don't forget anything, however trifling: it might be of the greatest help in getting at Mr. Eames' friends. Just shut your eyes and live Saturday afternoon over again out loud. You've just heard the clink of Mr. Eames' tumbler on the washstand——” His rapt attention stimulated the girl. She, too, sat forward on her seat, shut her eyes, and locked her fingers.