“No,” she replied decisively. “I could not help you.”
“Why?” asked Crewe.
“Because it does not interest me. I must feel an interest—I must feel in sympathy with the object on which I am asked to exert my powers. Without such sympathy I can do nothing, for when I close my eyes to see the vision I become as blind as those born without sight.”
“And you have no interest in helping me to restore this hat to its owner?” asked Crewe.
“None,” she replied.
“And you?” said Crewe, turning to her husband.
“I—I know nothing about it,” he stammered. “It is not mine.”
“This hat was lost over the cliffs near Ashlingsea. It was lost the night that the murdered body of the owner of the Cliff Farm was found. The owner was so anxious to secure possession of it that the morning after the murder he sent a boatman over to the scene to look for it. Is not that correct?” asked Crewe looking searchingly at Mr. Grange.
“I know nothing about it,” was the reply.
“Perhaps you would like to try it on,” said Crewe, picking up the hat and holding it out to the woman’s husband.