I tried my best to rekindle it.
"I haven't told you yet," I said, "about Mr. Hobhouse's attempts at
detection. He discovered one little fact. The old man with the tinted
spectacles was seen by a small child running towards the beach after he
had interviewed me."
I could see her pricking up her ears again, but she said little this
time, and I went on to tell her of Bolton's two talks with me. When I
came to his discovery her ardour was fairly aflame again, yet she still
seemed to be holding herself in a little.
"Some one who hasn't lived all 'their' life in the place," she repeated.
"Yes, it sounds as if he meant a woman."
"Oh, I didn't say that," I interposed.
"You thought it," she retorted, "and in that case I suppose it was me."
"But surely he must have known that before!"
"One would think so," she said thoughtfully, "but he didn't look a very
intelligent man--poor fellow! Still, it would be a stupid kind of
discovery to make a fuss about."
"There's just one thing more to tell you," I said; and I told her of the
curious episode by the cliffs on the day Bolton was murdered, and
mentioned my own conclusions, such as they were, and my difficulties in
fitting them into the evidence.
There was no doubt about her keenness now, yet I noticed that there were
no bold inferences this time.
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