“Do you remember what you told me about your mother’s old nurse, and our memory pictures of her name? I thought you had gone there. So I went to Charleswood to look for you.”
“I did think of going there. I intended to when I left Cornwall,” she hurriedly rejoined. “Then, afterwards, I thought it best not to. I stayed at a private hotel in Euston Road on my first night in London, but did not like it, and next day I went to a boarding-house near Russell Square. I meant to write to Mrs. Pursill from there, telling her my mother was dead. But that night after dinner I heard some of the boarders talking of—the murder, and I knew I couldn’t go to Charleswood—then. I left that place early next morning, and came here. I had been walking about all the morning, not knowing what to do, when I saw the card in this window saying that there was a room to let. Mrs. Johns told me she wanted to let the room more for company than anything else, because she lived alone. I was glad to find it, and grateful to her.”
“You have known all along that the police are looking for you?” he said gravely.
“After I heard them talking at the boarding-house,” rejoined simply. “One of the women had an evening paper, and read it aloud to the others. I knew then, of course. The woman kept looking at me as she read as though she suspected that I was the missing girl. I was very nervous, but tried to pretend that I didn’t notice, and left the room as soon as I dared.” “What about this Mrs. Johns—does she suspect anything?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh, no. She is a very unworldly kind of woman, and thinks of nothing but spiritualism. She never reads newspapers.”
“Do not talk about it,” he said suddenly, as though this picture of her wanderings was too much to be borne. “Why did you go away from Cornwall without a word? You said you had reasons. What were they, Sisily?”
“I will tell you—now.” The soft difference in the tone of the last word was too femininely subtle for him to understand. “That afternoon, when my father was talking to you all in the front room downstairs—do you remember?”
“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently.
“I heard something—I was at the door.”
“It was you, then, and not Thalassa, who looked through the door!” he said, glancing at her curiously.