She spoke with great irritation, not unmixed with fear.
“I—I came this way.”
“But why? I know it can’t have been accidental, your coming to such a place as this.”
“It was not, of course. I came because I was interested in the shop-lifting affair that occurred at the stores this afternoon, and thought that the nearest police-station would be the place where I was most likely to get further information about it.”
“And did you?”
He hesitated.
“I saw you come,” he said presently, in a low voice; “and I saw the others. I saw—oh, why should I tell you? You know all about it. It’s horrible. Of course I know you are justified in saying it is no business of mine; but still I hate the thought of it all. And, besides, you may put it, if you like, that it is merely because I’m puzzled and curious, and want to understand it all. Why did you pretend you were going home, when you were coming here? Who was the man who beckoned you out of the tea-shop, and who spoke to you just now? I want to know all these things, and you may say it is merely curiosity, if you choose.”
Miss Davison was sitting back, closing her eyes wearily, as if she scarcely heard and did not at all care what he was saying. When he had finished speaking she made no attempt to answer him, did not even open her eyes. There was a long pause. Then he said—
“Why don’t you answer my questions? Is it because you can’t, or because you don’t care what people think?”
Then she opened her eyes, with an expression of helpless boredom.