She sat down by his side and glanced around. They were alone and out of earshot from the windows.
"My visitor," she said, "was a detective—from Scotland Yard. He came to know if I could give him any information about my fellow—passenger from Accreton on February 10th."
"Why? Why did he want to know?"
"There was a murder, he said—a Cumberland farmer, and a young man named
Douglas Guest was missing."
"Douglas Guest" he said, hoarsely, "was in that train. He was killed.
It was in the papers."
"So the detective believed," she said, "but a daughter of the murdered man—"
"Ah!"
"—Has taken up the case and positively refused to identify some of the clothing belonging to the dead man. There was some talk of a young man, who answered to the description of Douglas Guest, having forced himself into my carriage. The man came to ask me about this."
"And you told him—what?"
She adjusted a bracelet carefully, her beautiful eyes fixed upon his haggard face.