"It's about Tootles, you said." "Very much so." She sat on the edge of the table, crossed her arms, and deliberately looked Martin over with expert eyes.

Knowing as much about men as a mechanic of a main-road motor-repairing shop knows about engines, her examination was acute and thorough.
Martin waited quietly, amused at her coolness, but impatient to come to cues.

She was a good sort, he knew.

Tootles had told him so, and he was certain that she had asked to see him out of friendship for the girl upstairs.
Her first question was almost as disconcerting and abrupt as a Zeppelin bomb.

"What did you do to Tootles ?" Martin held her examining gaze.