Lettice smiled. She did not look particularly docile. Denis was beguiled into lecturing her about her health, though he knew it was time wasted—nay, rather, time misspent. For Miss Smith was like a pig, and if you pulled her one way she was apt to go the other. In this case, however, it seemed that she had fairly made up her mind before he came to a holiday abroad, for presently she let slip that she had been studying a guide to the Ardennes, which she had borrowed from a neighbor below. Denis sent her down to borrow it again.
While she was away he wandered about, looking at her books. Under a fat dictionary he came upon the paper she had been reading when he entered, and he pulled it out to see if she still took what he called the Radical rag. Its name stared him in the face: The Westmorland Gazette. It was doubled back at page four: Fatality at Grasmere.
He wheeled as she came into the room. "Lettice, how on earth did you get hold of this thing?"
She stopped dead for a moment, then came on.
"I ordered it."
"What for?"
"Because I'd seen something about the accident, and I wanted to know more. So I went to Finch's at the corner and asked him to get me the local paper, and he did."
Lettice had a talent for explaining the obvious.
"Where did you see anything about the accident?"