And the funny thing was that the maid didn't know him
by sight, or know his voice. He kept his face rather hidden, she said,
and talked in a low voice. Of course it simply increased our suspicions
of you. But that was how they knew where you were! And that was the man
who tried to kill you."
"And who'd have done it for certain if he had found me at home that
night," I added.
I must frankly confess that this little incident made me feel
uncomfortable. The audacity of the steps my enemies took, their
remorseless thoroughness, the extraordinary completeness with which they
covered their tracks, their appearances from nowhere and disappearances
into space, were particularly nasty to contemplate with Bolton's fate so
fresh in my mind.
"They are pretty thorough," I said.
She seemed to divine the thoughts behind this remark.
"But they haven't suspected you yet," she said reassuringly, "and they
mustn't! And now, tell me some more, Mr. Merton."
So I went on telling her more:--about the man with spectacles, the
shooting episode, every single thing in fact I could remember. As we
neared the house we walked more and more slowly, but my tale was barely
finished when we got there.
"You'll come in, won't you?" she said. "I know father is out, so we can
go on talking."
She saw me hesitate and her colour faintly rose.
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