CHAPTER VIII
THE NEEDLE
"I DON'T need the cook to corroborate you, Jane." The detective rose. "But I want to have a little talk with her nevertheless. Will you show me to the kitchen?"
Jane hesitated.
"She'll be starting lunch soon, sir, and I'd not like to be the one to bother her. She's goodhearted but fiery, being French."
"Never mind about that. I want to see her."
With obvious trepidation Jane led the way downstairs to a spacious kitchen where a very fat woman stood at the table beating eggs. She glanced up, lifting a triple row of chins and glared at the intruders; and Jane turned incontinently and fled.
"Good morning, Marcelle." He recalled opportunely that Miss Meade had mentioned her name to him.
"Bon jour, Monsieur," she responded with native politeness, but her small eyes were stony. "Will Monsieur have the goodness to tell me what he desires in my kitchen?"
"Something more important than that very excellent omelette which you are making." He smiled genially. "I'm from Police Headquarters."
"So I have heard, Monsieur, but the children must eat just the same. I do not know where this house would go
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