“Did you or your father say anything to anybody about my voice; that I didn’t seem to have so much accent as I had at first, or anything of that kind?”
“Not a word,” she said positively. “Father is the most uncommunicative of people, and I have inherited some of his closeness.”
“Your servants?” I suggested.
“They are Ransay girls, and one foreign accent is the same as another to them,” she laughed.
“Then it must have been finding the parachute. I always thought that gave me away.”
“But it wasn’t found till Monday morning, after we had been for that walk.”
“It might have been found by these people sooner.”
“It might,” she admitted without much conviction. “But still—who did you see or speak to apart from us and Dr. Rendall and Mr. O’Brien?”
“The Scollays,” I said, “and several farmers I happened to meet; but always with a most suspicious accent. Oh, and there was one incident I forgot to mention. On the Sunday afternoon I was doing a little fancy shooting with my revolver down on the beach when Jock turned up. You know Jock the idiot?”
“Well,” she said, but her attention had evidently been caught by my first words. “You were doing fancy shooting,” she repeated. “Are you a very good shot?”
“Quite useful,” I admitted with becoming modesty. “That afternoon I was rather above myself.”
“Then,” she cried, “you were seen, and that’s why the man stopped firing at you as soon as you aimed at him! He knew he would be hit if he went on!”
I opened my eyes a little and smiled.
“That is a flattering solution,” I said, “but if I may venture to say so, it seems rather a bold inference.”
“I’m certain it’s right,” she said confidently. “Did you speak to Jock?”
“Yes, I had a little talk with him; that’s to say of course I did all the talking.”
“In your natural voice?”
“Latterly I did,” I admitted.
“Were you far from the wall above the beach.”
“Not very.”
“And I suppose there were lots of rocks about?”
“The usual supply.”
“Then someone was behind either the wall or the rocks and you were overheard! That’s how you were found out!”
“Miss Rendall,” I said, “you arrive at solutions by such brilliant shortcuts that I feel like an old cart horse stumbling along out of sight behind you. My models hitherto have been the classical detectives—”
“Tuts!” she laughed, “they were only men!”
“Yes,” I agreed, “we are not much of a sex. And now, guess again please, it’s a very simple conundrum this time—for you. Who was the man behind the wall—or the rocks?”
She looked the least trifle hurt.
“I am really trying to help,” she said.
“I know it!” I assured her. “And don’t think I am laughing at you. This jumping to conclusions is probably the right way of reaching them. Anyhow my way has failed, and I am only too keen to try yours.”
But I could see that I had a sensitive as well as a clever ally, and her ardour was evidently a little damped. I tried my best to rekindle it.
“I haven’t told you yet,” I said, “about Mr. Hobhouse’s attempts at detection. He discovered one little fact. The old man with the tinted spectacles was seen by a small child running towards the beach after he had interviewed me.”
I could see her pricking up her ears again, but she said little this time, and I went on to tell her of Bolton’s two talks with me. When I came to his discovery her ardour was fairly aflame again, yet she still seemed to be holding herself in a little.
“Someone who hasn’t lived all ‘their’ life in the place,” she repeated. “Yes, it sounds as if he meant a woman.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” I interposed.
“You thought it,” she retorted, “and in that case I suppose it was me.”
“But surely he must have known that before!”
“One would think so,” she said thoughtfully, “but he didn’t look a very intelligent man—poor fellow! Still, it would be a stupid kind of discovery to make a fuss about.”
“There’s just one thing more to tell you,” I said; and I told her of the curious episode by the cliffs on the day Bolton was murdered, and mentioned my own conclusions, such as they were, and my difficulties in fitting them into the evidence.
There was no doubt about her keenness now, yet I noticed that there were no bold inferences this time. Nor did she even ask me many questions. But I saw her grow very thoughtful.
“Well,” I said, “have you any ideas—any suspicions?”
She gave no answer for a few moments, and then she said.
“I am not going to jump to conclusions again, Mr. Merton. There is no use trying to act on wild ideas till we have found a little more out. You might just be running risks for no purpose, and you are in quite enough danger as it is.”
“Hobhouse will look after me,” I assured her.
She glanced at me with a look in her eyes that gave me a little thrill, and then I saw a slight shiver run over her.
“You are too brave to realise what danger you are in! Remember Bolton!”
“Believe me, Miss Rendall, I am just as careful of my skin as other people, but there is absolutely no danger so long as they don’t spot me.”
“But how long will that be? And you are taking no precautions at all!”
“But I am! I assure you I am. I have a code wire arranged with my cousin and when he gets the message ‘Request permission to be visited by my own doctor,’ he will be in Ransay as fast as he can steam.”
She gave a little laugh, but looked anxious still.
“What a delicious message! Well, that’s better than nothing. But you don’t imagine they will give you warning, do you?”
“You will,” I said confidently. “When you guess there’s danger I’ll wire. And now, I hope you have some idea in your head besides this notion of
