She hesitated, and West glanced aside wonderingly. Would she venture to deny her knowledge of the man?
"No," she said at last doubtfully, "not unless his other name was Jim. There was a fellow they called Jim. He was my jailer after that woman locked me into a room."
"A woman? The same one who was with you on the yacht?"
"Yes."
"Where was this?"
"Why surely you must know. In that cottage where we stopped with Percival
Coolidge."
He drew a deep breath, more thoroughly puzzled than ever. What could be her purpose to make so bold an effort to deceive? Did she imagine for a moment that he could be made to believe she had been continuously held prisoner since that Sunday morning? It was preposterous. Why, he had seen her again and again with his own eyes; had talked with her, and so had Sexton. His heart sank, but he determined to go on, and learn how far she would carry this strange tale. Perhaps out of the welter he could discern some truth.
"The fellow's name is Jim, all right, Jim Hobart. I've looked him up in the police records. He is a confidence man, with one charge of assault with attempt to kill against him. Nothing lately, however; it seems he disappeared about ten years ago, and has just drifted back. The woman passes as his wife. You knew nothing of all this?"
"No; I only saw the man twice; he was very rough then, and swore when I questioned him."
"And the woman?"