“Not on her side, certainly, but on his—yes, undoubtedly. His devotion to her amounts almost to infatuation, and has for a long time past. Of course, she realizes his condition, and though he is rather a nuisance to her, she takes a very kindly and indulgent view of his vagaries.”
“Naturally, as any well-disposed woman would. I suppose you didn’t see anything of him yesterday?”
Of course I had to relate the meeting in Kensington Gardens, and I could see by the way Thorndyke looked at me that he was wondering why I had not mentioned the matter before.
“It almost looks,” said he, “as if he had followed you there. Was there anything in his manner of approach that seemed to support that idea?”
“I think there was, for I saw him at some distance,” and here I felt bound to describe Wallingford’s peculiar tactics.
“But,” said Thorndyke, “why was he looking about behind him? He must have known that you were in front.”
“It seems,” I explained, feebly, “that he has some ridiculous idea that he is being watched and followed.”
“Ha!” said Thorndyke. “Now I wonder who he supposes is watching and following him.”
“I fancy he suspects you,” I replied. And so the murder was out, with the additional fact that I had not been very ready with my information.
Thorndyke, however, made no comment on my reticence beyond a steady and significant look at me.