“So,” thought the detective, “she is not quite frank, with me.” Then aloud: “Do you suspect any one?”
“No.”
“Madam, I must ask some personal questions. Please answer them frankly and truly, or not at all, and be sure that every question is necessary, every answer important.”
The lady bows her head, and he proceeds:
“First, then, have you a secret?”
She starts, turns her head away, and is silent.
The detective notes the movement, smiles again, and goes on:
“Let us advance a step; you have a secret.”
“Why—do you—say that?”
“Because you have yourself told me as much. We never feel that uneasy sense of espionage, so well described by you, madam, until we have something to conceal—the man who carries no purse, fears no robber. You have a secret. This has made you watchful, and, being watchful, you discover that you have—what? An enemy, or only a tormentor?”