It was she who began as soon as we were clear of the farm.
"Are your uncle and Captain Whiteclett going back tonight?" she asked
anxiously, and when I said I didn't know, she cried, "Well then I must
come back and see them in case they go. There has been no time to explain
and they must be told that it was simply my stupidity that prevented you
from catching Jock sooner!"
"Your--what?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, I ought to have seen that you didn't know he wasn't one of the
family!" she insisted. "And that was one of the reasons why I went and
interfered again when I'd vowed I wouldn't. I thought if you didn't
suspect him, perhaps I was wrong, and if I had been, you'd never have
trusted my 'guesses' again; so I wanted to get some proof to show you.
But all the credit is really yours."
Our debate on this point was too one-sided to be worth recording. And yet
though my arguments were irresistible, she would persist--and persists to
this day--that somehow or other I unmasked Jock the spy.
"Well, let's leave it at that," I said at last. "Disguised as Miss
Rendall, alone I did it! And now tell me what made you suspect the man?"
"It was only when you told me about meeting him by the cliffs on the day
of the murder that I suddenly thought of Bolton's discovery and then I
saw that he must have meant Jock.
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