"But you must admit we have some reason for suspicion," I went on, looking into my cup. "Of course, I am not speaking now as a gentleman——"
"No," said Bill, maliciously. I continued.
"——but as an investigator into the causes of psychological phenomena. Placing them upon the dissecting-table, so to speak, and probing with the forceps of observation and the needle of wit——"
"Rubbish!" snorted the etcher rudely, turning to his plates.
"But, my dear chap!" I urged, "let me explain. I happened to be reading Balzac last night, that is all. You know how stimulating he is, and how readily one falls in with his plans for forming a complete Science of Applied Biology of the human race. Put it another way if you like. What are the facts? Item: A grass widow, obviously foreign, presumably Italian. Item: Two children indisputably American, one fair, the other dark. Item: A scaldino. Item: Male clothing on the line. Item: A reserved attitude toward her intelligent and cultivated neighbours. Item: Ignorance of the well-known fact that the Indian Summer is now setting in. Item:——shall I go on? Have we not here evidence sufficiently discrepant to warrant a certain conjecture?"
"Male clothing, you said?" remarked Bill, a certain respect for my perspicacity in her manner; "When?"
"The last time I came home with the milk," I replied. "The moon was shining with some brilliance. As I looked out of my window before getting into bed I saw some one moving over there. A further scrutiny revealed to me a number of undeniable suits of pyjamas which were being taken hurriedly from the line."
"You didn't say anything about it before?"
"No, because I attached no significance to the fact before. To tell you the truth, I was under the impression that they were doing laundry work and that, to conceal the fact more effectively, they were doing the male garments at night. We had not then heard the item I was waiting permission to enumerate."
"Is it one we know or one you're going to spring on us?" inquired the lady, reaching out for my cup.