Bailey saw what she was doing and began to help her.
Not so Lizzie.

She sat on the floor in a heap, her eyes riveted on the Unknown, who in his turn was gazing at Miss Cornelia's revolver on the hamper with the intent stare of a baby or an idiot fascinated by a glittering piece of glass.
Dale noticed the curious tableau.
"Lizzie--what are you looking at ?" she said with a nervous shake in her voice.
"What's he looking at ?" asked Lizzie sepulchrally, pointing at the Unknown.

Her pointed forefinger drew his eyes away from the revolver; he sank back into his former apathy, listless, drooping.
Miss Cornelia rattled the knob of a high closet by the other wall.
"This one is locked--and the key's gone," she announced.

A new flicker of interest grew in the eyes of the Unknown.

Lizzie glanced away from him, terrified.
"If there's anything locked up in that closet," she whimpered, "you'd better let it stay! There's enough running loose in this house as it is!" Unfortunately for her, her whimper drew Miss Cornelia's attention upon her.
"Lizzie, did you ever take that key ?" the latter queried sternly.
"No'm," said Lizzie, too scared to dissimulate if she had wished.