"Then the young feller comes back and says as how the lady in the car
was feeling sick, and could I fetch her a glass of water with a
teaspoonful of bicarbonate of soda in it. I knew we had some in the
medicine chest upstairs, so--"
"So you went back to the house and got it?"
"Yes, miss."
"And _that's_ when they copped the plates!" declared Bill, the
irrepressible.
"Bull's eye!" derided Dorothy. "How'd you guess it?"
"Form of genius some of us have."
Dorothy ignored this last and turned again to the maid. "What happened
when you brought back the bicarb, Lizzie?"
"I give it to the young lady in the car, miss."
"Young, was she?"
"I couldn't get a good look at her face, for she was dabbin' her eyes
with a handkerchief like she'd been cryin'. But she was dressed in some
of those new-fangled pajamas like you wear to the beach, they was--sort
of yellow-green color--and a wisp of her hair that had got loose from
the bandanna she wore was red--the brightest red hair I ever see. She
turned her head away when she drunk the medicine, but she thanked me
prettily enough when she handed back the glass."
"Have you washed it yet?"
"No, miss. You see, I--"
"Then don't. I want that glass, just as it is. Was the lame man sitting
beside her?"
"No. When I brought her the soda he was comin' out of the garage with
the other fellow. He was carryin' a package wrapped in newspaper and he
says as how he was takin' some part of the engine back to the shop. He
spoke kind of funny, like a foreigner, I thought. And all dolled up in a
light suit and a cane. Why, he'd even got lemon colored gloves on for
all his lameness and the big boot he wore!"
"Did the girl and the other man wear gloves?"
"The man put them on when he started to tinker with the car, I remember.
But the girl had no gloves on."
"You're sure?"
"Oh, yes, miss, because I noticed her shiny pink finger nails,
particular. I thought at the time that washin' dishes couldn't be no
part of her life."
"That's fine, Lizzie. You make a splendid witness."
"Thanks, miss. I got a good look at the lame man, too. He had a funny
little black mustache like they wear in the movies and little gold knobs
in his ears--what do think of _that_!" Lizzie paused dramatically as she
gave this choice bit of information.
"Earrings?"
"Earrings, miss--and--"
"Thank you, Lizzie. You may go now."
"Remember those earrings, miss. And I'll keep the glass for you, and
won't let cook touch it either, never fear!" Lizzie's slight figure
faded into the darkness.
"So you've got pretty good descriptions of the gang _and_ the lady's
fingerprints!" Bill summed up. "I've got to hand it to you, kid. Reckon
you'll have to let your father know about it though. Those fingerprints
will have to be examined by the police."