"Neither of them mentioned her. That I understand. When they spoke of the motor-car, they seem by common consent to have left it a blank who was in it. He said to her: 'But the man in the road—Blind Jim—was he hurt?' And then she had to tell him of Jim's death, and the dear little thing, and he was so horror-struck that she was afraid he would slip back, and went for help. He had a very bad time—a sort of attack of delirium—and the doctor had to give him morphine."
"Did she tell him anything of Judith at the inquest—and all—and all the share she had in it, you know?"
"The inquest was next day."
"So it was. Of course! But was he ever told about her? Did you tell him?"
"Why—n-no! I rather shirked talking about it, that's the truth."
"But you told him that odd thing ... you know?"
The Rector's voice dropped. "I know what you mean. The child's voice, and 'Pi-lot.' Yes, I told him."
"Was he impressed?"
"Ye-es—well!—perhaps not exactly in that way. But he thought it very curious, and wanted me to send it to the Psychical Society."
"Shall you?"