He looked away again. But I began to get interested.
“How on earth do you know her, then?” I demanded with more curiosity than discretion.
“Well,” he answered slowly, “I used to live in the same house with her—over there.”
He waved his hand in the direction of the disappearing boat. At that my discretion fared worse than before. It was really, though, with an idea of carrying the thing off lightly that I asked:
“How do you know it’s the same one?”
He barely smiled.
“Well, a voice, you know—sometimes it sort of sticks in your head. I suppose you think it’s queer. But I could tell you her name—and everything.”
He didn’t, let me state in passing. But Chatty did tell me something. I don’t think it was because I was I—if you gather anything from that elegant phrase! Of course, our bond made me less objectionable than I might have been. But the truth of it was that the spring had been touched and the panel had to yield. Not that I got more than a peep into the secret recess, though. I only saw what lay in front.
“H’m!” mused Chatty aloud, partly to himself and partly to me. “What a funny girl she was! She was one of those girls who begin to learn things too soon and get through learning them too late. She was rather young, then, too. She was big and black and pale and awkward, and not very pretty.” Then, “Was there anybody like that among the people you saw?” he asked suddenly.
I considered.