The detective knew that it would be folly to deny the charge that she made. He knew that she remembered now, perfectly well, and that nothing could disabuse her mind of the determination it had reached.
Acting upon the impulse of the instant, therefore, and determined now to play out his rôle as it should appear, Nick pretended instantly to be as greatly astonished as she was at the recollection, and the strangeness of it.
He, too, leaped to his feet, imitating an astonishment as great as her own. He did not tip over his coffee, but he did manage to upset his chair, so that it fell backward on the floor; and then for the space of a moment they stood staring into each other's eyes, both—from all appearances—speechless with astonishment.
And then, very slowly, she subsided into her chair again, still keeping her eyes upon him, and still evidently taxing her memory to the utmost to recall all the incidents of that meeting at the prefecture in Paris.
"I remember now," she murmured at last, more to herself than to him. "It all comes back to me, bit by bit. Monsieur Goron was chief at the time—no? Yes. I remember. There had been a sudden death in the house where I lived—it was on the floor just beneath me—and Goron sent for me to question me about it. It was thought at first that Lucie had been murdered, and Goron thought that perhaps I would know about it. He had just finished questioning me when you entered the room—ah!"
Her eyes blazed with a sudden fire of anger, and her lips tightened over her teeth.
"When you entered the room Goron rose and shook hands with you. Why did he do that? Goron did not shake hands with criminals!"
"Nor with his police spies, did he?" asked Nick, smiling and shrugging his shoulders.
"But why did he shake hands with you?"
"Because we were old acquaintances, madam."