“Well, I don’t happen to this time. Do you?”
“Yes,” answered Chatty.
That’s exactly what he said, if you please: “yes!” I couldn’t have been
more amazed if the pier had suddenly begun flying through the air.
“Know her, man!” I cried. And then I remembered. “Oh, I suppose you saw
them upstreet this morning.”
“Did _you_?” he asked. He seemed interested.
“How could I help it?” I rejoined. “You can tell that kind of people a
mile off, up here.”
“Oh!” he said. “I didn’t happen to. I’m in the hotel a good deal, you
know.”
He looked away again. But I began to get interested.
“How on earth do you know her, then?” I demanded with more curiosity
than discretion.
“Well,” he answered slowly, “I used to live in the same house with
her--over there.”
He waved his hand in the direction of the disappearing boat. At that my
discretion fared worse than before. It was really, though, with an idea
of carrying the thing off lightly that I asked:
“How do you know it’s the same one?”
He barely smiled.
“Well, a voice, you know--sometimes it sort of sticks in your head.
I suppose you think it’s queer. But I could tell you her name--and
everything.”
He didn’t, let me state in passing. But Chatty did tell me something.
I don’t think it was because I was I--if you gather anything from that
elegant phrase! Of course, our bond made me less objectionable than
I might have been. But the truth of it was that the spring had been
touched and the panel had to yield. Not that I got more than a peep
into the secret recess, though. I only saw what lay in front.
“H’m!” mused Chatty aloud, partly to himself and partly to me. “What
a funny girl she was! She was one of those girls who begin to learn
things too soon and get through learning them too late. She was rather
young, then, too. She was big and black and pale and awkward, and not
very pretty.” Then, “Was there anybody like that among the people you
saw?” he asked suddenly.