“But I have seen her there.”
“It is conceivable,” said Carpentaria. “But I gravely doubt if she is still there.”
“I shall be compelled to think that after all you are a little mad,” Pauline observed coldly.
“We are all more or less mad,” said Carpentaria. “Otherwise your sister, for instance, would not hold long conversations with a highly suspicious character every night from the window of her room.”
Pauline, in the light of her knowledge of what had taken place in and about the Ilam bungalow on the first night of her residence there, could scarcely affect not to understand, at any rate partially, Carpentaria’s allusion.
“I don’t quite——” she began, lamely.
“Do you mean to say,” he interrupted her at once, “do you mean to say, dear lady, that you are entirely unaware of the surreptitious visits of a certain mysterious person to Mr. Ilam’s house?”
“I am not entirely unaware of them,” she said frankly! “I saw the man myself one night. I spoke to him. My sister also—also spoke to him. But I have not seen nor heard of him since. Nor has Rosie.”
“Of that you are sure?”
“Yes, I think I may say I am sure.”