"Some one who hasn't lived all 'their' life in the place," she repeated.
"Yes, it sounds as if he meant a woman."
"Oh, I didn't say that," I interposed.
"You thought it," she retorted, "and in that case I suppose it was me."
"But surely he must have known that before!"
"One would think so," she said thoughtfully, "but he didn't look a very intelligent man—poor fellow! Still, it would be a stupid kind of discovery to make a fuss about."
"There's just one thing more to tell you," I said; and I told her of the curious episode by the cliffs on the day Bolton was murdered, and mentioned my own conclusions, such as they were, and my difficulties in fitting them into the evidence.
There was no doubt about her keenness now, yet I noticed that there were no bold inferences this time. Nor did she even ask me many questions. But I saw her grow very thoughtful.
"Well," I said, "have you any ideas—any suspicions?"
She gave no answer for a few moments, and then she said.
"I am not going to jump to conclusions again, Mr. Merton. There is no use trying to act on wild ideas till we have found a little more out. You might just be running risks for no purpose, and you are in quite enough danger as it is."