"You know?"
"Oh, yes, I know. Evans, I believe you're disposed to be my friend, and I'm in need of a friend."
"You are, miss, in more need than you have perhaps a notion of. I don't want to use any big words, but there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, and be glad to do it, as, maybe, before all's done, I'll prove. But I wish you'd trust me, miss--trust me all the way. I wish you'd tell me whose knife that is and how you came to have it."
"I'd rather not, and for this reason. I was convinced that the owner of that knife was the murderer. That is why, when I found it, I brought it home with me.
"To screen him?"
"You must not ask me that. Quite lately I have begun to think that I was wrong, that the owner of that knife is as innocent as I am. It's a tangle. I was quite close when it happened; I heard it all happening; yet now I am conscious that I have no more real knowledge of who did it than you have. You mustn't ask me any questions; I may tell you more some other time--I may have to--not now! not now! I want to think! But, Evans, there is one thing I wish to say to you--do you believe that I'm a somnambulist?"
"A somnambulist? A sleep-walker do you mean? Whatever has put that idea into your head?"
"Have you heard the tales they're telling--about my having been seen in the woods at night in my nightdress?"
"I've heard some stuff; it's all a pack of nonsense! What next?"
"Do you know Briggs the postman? What sort of man is he?"