“Either this girl is innocent, or else she is the smartest woman I ever came across in all my life.”
If she was deceiving him she was doing it with an assumption of truthfulness that was artistic in the highest degree.
He could not but acknowledge that he had made nothing of her, and was about to give up the task of trying to do so when there was the sound of a step at the door.
Looking up he saw that it was Barnes.
He had barely noted the fact when he observed something else.
This was that both the girl and Barnes gave a start of recognition.
“Ha! They knew each other!” he exclaimed. “Now, then, what does this mean? Can it be that he has any part in this game?”
It may seem to the reader a little singular that the detective should even for a moment doubt a man whom he was supposed to know as well as Barnes.
But the detective’s experience had been such to make him suspicious of anyone, no matter whom, if the finger of dumb evidence pointed him out. He was a firm believer in evidence of this character, although he did not permit the belief to lead him into injustice.
Coming forward with a smile, Barnes said: