“There is one gentleman of red head,” she responded, “but none of blue—pas du tout.”
“You must know whom I mean—the lodger who has been with you thirty-five years.”
She looked at me as at one who has either been tricked or is attempting trickery.
“I don’t know his name—but you certainly understand! The man I saw in that room at the foot of the stairs when you were showing my friend and me the chambers day before yesterday.”
“There was nobody. De room at de foot of de stair is empty all season. Tout de suite I put in some young lady that arrive this night.”
“Madame Clementine, I saw a man with a blue skin on the beach yesterday—” I stopped. He had not told me he lodged with her. That was my own deduction. “I saw him the day before in this house. Don’t you know any such person? He has been on the island since that young lady was brought to your house with the cholera so long ago. He brought her to you.”
A flicker of recollection appeared on Clementine’s face.
“That man is gone, madame; it is many years. And he was not blue at all. He was English Jersey man, of Halifax.”
“Did you never hear of any blue man on the island, Clementine?”
“I hear of blue bones found beyond Point de Mission.”