“Do you know how he came here? Did he know Mrs. Beckle or anybody else in the house before?”
“That also I can’t say. But Mrs. Beckle, I believe, knew all about him. In fact I have sometimes thought there was some mysterious connection between them, though what I cannot say. Certainly I cannot understand a landlady keeping so troublesome a lodger.”
“You have seen a little more of Mr. Foster, of course?”
“Well, yes. He has been here so much longer. He was more endurable than was Captain Pullin, certainly, though he was not always sober. The two did not love one another, I believe.”
There the inspector pricked his ears. “They didn’t love one another, you say, ma’am. Why was that?”
“Oh, I don’t really know. I fancy Mr. Foster wanted to borrow money or something. He used to say Captain Pullin had plenty of money, and had once sunk a ship purposely. I don’t know whether or not this was serious, of course.”
Hewitt looked at her keenly. “Have you ever heard him called Captain Pullin of the Egret?” he asked.
“No, I never heard the name of any vessel.”
“There’s just one thing, Miss Walker,” the inspector said, “that I’m afraid I must insist on before you go. It’s only a matter of form, of course. But I must ask you to let me look round your room—I shan’t disturb it.”
Miss Walker tossed her head. “Very well then,” she said, turning toward the door with the Yale lock, and producing the key; “there it is.” And she flung the door open.