“As to what?”
“Everything: her being there, her actions, her—her apparel, the jewelry, you know, and all that.”
“You’ve said nothing about jewelry.”
“Haven’t I? Well, when she turned—”
“Just a moment. Was it the jewelry that you were going to speak of when you first accosted her?”
“Yes, it was. Some of it was very valuable, I judge. Wasn’t it found on the body?”
“No.”
“Not? Robbery, then, probably. Well, she came back at a stride. Her eyes were alive with anger. There came a torrent of words from her; strong words, too. Nothing of the well-bred woman left there. I insisted on knowing who she was, and she burst out on me with laughter that was, somehow, more insulting than her speech. But when I told her that I’d find out about her if I had to follow her into the sea, she stopped laughing fast enough. Before I could guard myself she had caught up a rock from the road and let me have it. I went over like a tenpin. When I got up, she was well along toward the cliffs, and I never did find her trail in that maze of copses and thickets.”
“Show me your relative positions when she attacked you.”
The artist placed Kent, and moved off five paces. “About like that,” he said.