She hesitated—then framed her reply. “No one to my knowledge—but——”
Bannister pounced. “But what?”
“I am not absolutely sure.”
The admission seemed to have been wrung from her. Her reluctance was plain to behold. The Inspector looked her over keenly—obviously wondering what it was exactly that was in her mind. “What do you mean?”
“I have noticed a change in her.”
“What kind of a change?”
“She was just a little bit secretive over one or two small things—didn’t confide in me so much.”
“Give me an example.”
“Pinkie” bent her head for a moment, thinking. “Well—just this. It’s hard to explain to anybody else. She has been to London about half-a-dozen times within the last twelve months—when she has returned here—she hasn’t been so full of what she had done, like she used to be—in the past she had always confided in me and told me everything. Then she has had letters from time to time in a handwriting that was strange to me—also I can remember a few postcards. I don’t know where they came from.”
Bannister frowned, but Mr. Bathurst evidently considered the point of some importance.