“Yes,” I answered.
“How did you accomplish it?”
I shrugged my shoulders, answering: “There is an old saying—a very true one—that ‘murder will out.’”
“But tell me more. Explain more fully,” she urged in an earnest tone.
I hesitated. Next instant, however, I decided to keep my own counsel in the matter. Her readiness to deny that the events occurred in that house had re-aroused within me a distinct suspicion.
“It is a long story, and cannot be told here,” I answered evasively.
“Then come along to the hotel,” she suggested. “I, too, have much to say to you.”
I do not know that I should have obeyed her were it not for the mystery which had hitherto, veiled her identity. She had saved my life, it is true, and I supposed that I ought to consider her as a friend, yet in those few minutes during which I had gazed upon her a curious dislike of her had arisen within me. She was, I felt certain, not the straightforward person I had once believed her to be.
Not that there was anything in her appearance against her. On the contrary, she was a pleasant, smiling, rather pretty woman of perhaps thirty-five, who spoke with the air and manner of a lady, and who carried herself well, with the grace of one in a higher social circle.
After a few moments’ hesitation my curiosity got the better of my natural caution, and I determined to hear what she had to say. Therefore we drove together to the Bath Hotel.