"I wonder what Hopley could tell me of this?" cried the detective, looking at her.
"Hopley could tell you nothing--but of course you are welcome to ask him if you please. Hopley never saw him at all, as far as I know; and I did not say anything to the old man about it. If you question Hopley, sir, I must help you--you'd be a month making him hear, yourself."
"How is it that you keep your husband in ignorance of things?--as you seem to do."
"Of what things, sir?" rejoined the woman. "I'm sure I don't keep things from him: I have no things to keep. It's true I didn't tell him of this. I was uncommonly tired last night, for it had been a trying day, and full of work besides; and it takes no little exertion, I can testify, to make Hopley understand. One can't gossip with him, as one can with people who have got their hearing."
This was no doubt true. The detective was frightfully at fault, and did not conceal from himself that he was. The woman seemed so honest, so open, so truthful; and yet he could have staked his professional fame that there lay mystery somewhere, and that the sick man had not gone away. Instinct, prevision--call it what you will--told him that the man was lying close to his hand--if he could only put that hand out in the right direction and lay it on him. Bending his head, he took a few steps about the grass: and Ann Hopley, hoping she was done with, went into the kitchen with her cauliflowers.
Letting them fall on to the dresser out of her apron, she gave a sharp look around, indoors and out. The detective was then conversing with his two policemen, whom he had called up. Now was her time. Slipping off her shoes--though it was not likely her footsteps could be heard out on the lawn--she went across the passage, and opened the door of the little room: from which Mrs. Grey, in her fear and distress, had not dared to stir.
"Mistress," she whispered, "I must give you the clue of what I have been saying, lest they come and ask you questions too. It would never do for us to have two tales, you one and me another. Do you mind me, ma'am?"
"Go on, Ann. Yes."
"The sick gentleman came unexpectedly yesterday, and was taken sick here. You and me got frightened, and sent telegraphing off for a doctor. He got up after doctor left--said he was better--didn't seem to think much of his illness, said he had been as bad before. Went away again at night; had to go; was going off to sea, I thought, as I heard you wish him a good voyage and safe landing. I didn't know his name, I said; only heard you call him Edward: thought it was some near relation of yours.--Can you remember all this, ma'am?"
"Oh yes. You had better go back, Ann. If they see you talking to me--oh, go back! Ann, I--I feel as though I should die."