"I understand the girl did not give you her name," he said. "What was she like? How was she dressed?"
Lister was rather surprised to find he could not answer satisfactorily. It was not the girl's physical qualities but her emotions he had marked. He remembered the pluck with which she had struggled against the fear she obviously felt, her impulsive trust when he offered help, and her relief when she got into the locomotive cab. Although he had studied her at Montreal, it was her effort to play a part that impressed him most.
"She was young, and I think attractive," he replied. "She wore a knitted cap and a kind of jersey a girl might use for boating. I thought she came from a summer camp."
Cartwright's face was inscrutable, but Lister saw the others' interest was keen. Mrs. Cartwright's eyes were fixed on him and he got a hint of suspense. Although Grace was very quiet, a touch of color had come to her skin, as if she felt humiliated. Mortimer's pose was stiff and his control over done. Then Cartwright turned to his step-daughter.
"Have you told Jones about the box of plants for Liverpool?"
Grace's look indicated that she did not want to go, but Cartwright's glance was insistent and she got up. Lister looked about and saw Vernon had not come back. He was studying the plants in a border across the lawn. When Grace had gone Cartwright asked:
"Can you remember the evening of the month and the time when you first saw the girl?"
Lister fixed the date and added: "It was nearly ten o'clock. The porter had just gone through the car and when he said my berth was ready I looked at my watch. He went to the next Pullman, and I thought he was getting busy late."
Cartwright nodded and Mortimer glanced at him sharply, but next moment looked imperturbable. Mrs. Cartwright's relief, however, was obvious. Her face had become animated and her hands trembled.
"Thank you," said Cartwright. "Go on."