"Then some one was behind either the wall or the rocks and you were overheard! That's how you were found out!"
"Miss Rendall," I said, "you arrive at solutions by such brilliant short cuts that I feel like an old cart horse stumbling along out of sight behind you. My models hitherto have been the classical detectives—"
"Tuts!" she laughed, "they were only men!"
"Yes," I agreed, "we are not much of a sex. And now, guess again please, it's a very simple conundrum this time—for you. Who was the man behind the wall—or the rocks?"
She looked the least trifle hurt.
"I am really trying to help," she said,
"I know it!" I assured her. "And don't think I am laughing at you. This jumping to conclusions is probably the right way of reaching them. Anyhow my way has failed, and I am only too keen to try yours."
But I could see that I had a sensitive as well as a clever ally, and her ardour was evidently a little damped. I tried my best to rekindle it.
"I haven't told you yet," I said, "about Mr. Hobhouse's attempts at detection. He discovered one little fact. The old man with the tinted spectacles was seen by a small child running towards the beach after he had interviewed me."
I could see her pricking up her ears again, but she said little this time, and I went on to tell her of Bolton's two talks with me. When I came to his discovery her ardour was fairly aflame again, yet she still seemed to be holding herself in a little.