“White marks,” Elsie went on, as if uninterrupted, “that were made by the rubbing on the carpet of a woman’s white shoes. Shoes, I mean, that had been whitened with some of those chalk preparations that most women use,—or their maids use for them.”
A side glance at Henrietta’s face showed Elsie that it was as white as the chalk in question, but she went on: “I know that those marks were made by Miss Webb’s shoes; I know that it was at her request that the maid carefully removed the marks from the green carpet; I know she gave the maid orders to say nothing about the matter; and I know she has destroyed or concealed those shoes!”
Henrietta’s face became like a stone. Impassive, unreadable, its expression showed neither embarrassment nor fear. Only in her eyes was there a sign of perturbation. Her glance at Elsie was defiant, and a little threatening.
“Well, Miss Webb,” Hanley began, “you advised me not to be too much impressed by Miss Powell’s statements, so I’ll ask you for a bit of explanation right here.”
“There is nothing to explain,” Henrietta began, calmly; “I deny everything she has asserted. I may have been in my brother’s room during the past week, I may have left some white marks from my shoes on the carpet, but I do not recollect such an occasion, nor do I think it at all pertinent to the matter in hand. As to the matter of the housemaid, that is pure fabrication. I am not in the habit of conniving with servants, as Miss Powell seems to be.”
“Which shoes of yours are so whitened that the marks on the carpet are usual,—and where are the shoes?” Elsie demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Miss Webb.
“I really don’t know,” Henrietta shrugged her shoulders. “You must ask Janet, she looks after my wardrobe.”
“Come, come, Miss Powell,” said Hanley, impressed more by Henrietta’s indifference than by Elsie’s “clue.” “I don’t think you’re adapted to detective work. You overestimate the importance of trifles.”
“Nothing is a trifle if it points the way to discovery,” said Elsie, her brown eyes flashing and her red lips quivering as she looked from one to another for help or sympathy.
“I think, Miss Webb,” he said, a bit shortly, “that you owe us a little information. Doesn’t the maid clean the rooms each morning?”