“That he wasn’t blind at all.”
“No,” Bertha said. “He was blind. I know.”
“How?”
“Well, in the first place, some of the things he told me about people — about what he’d deduced from sounds, voices, and steps and things of that sort. Only a blind man could have developed his faculties that way, and — well, look at the house. Not a light in it.”
“Oh, so you noticed that, did you?”
“Yes.”
“Try to switch on a light, did you?”
“Yes.”
“Rather unusual for you to go walking into strange houses, isn’t it?”
“Well, the door was open.”