A second or two passed before I was able to answer at all, and even then my first remark was not in the least worthy of the occasion; but it expressed precisely what was in my mind.

“How the⁠—how on earth did you find me out?”

She smiled a little, but her manner was anxious still.

“I haven’t lived all my life in Ransay,” she said. “I have even been to London and to quite a good many London theatres. In fact I’ve seen you act before, Mr. Merton.”

“What an extraordinary way to be found out!” I thought, and aloud I said,

“But my name isn’t on the programme in Ransay.”

“It was, when you were last here, you must remember,” said she.

I looked at her for a moment, and she at me, and in that exchange of glances I decided emphatically that there was no sign of evil in those eyes. Anyhow, I stood to lose nothing if I got her confidence, and my own could be withheld or not as I saw fit.

“We might as well be frank,” I said. “How exactly did you come to spot me?”

Again she smiled, and each time she smiled straight at me like that, I confess frankly I grew less cautious.

“Do you remember when Captain Whiteclett came to arrest you, your bedroom door was open just for a minute?”

I did remember now and recalled her face outside and its very expression vividly.

“I heard him call you ‘Roger’ and saw that you knew each other well, and then of course I knew we had been utterly wrong in thinking you a⁠—”

She paused and I finished the sentence for her.

“A spy.”

“Well, are you honestly surprised? You did do some most extraordinary things, Mr. Merton! I only began to get the least idea of what you were about some time afterwards.”

“And what idea did you get then? And how did you get it?”

“It was when we began to hear of the bad name our island was getting. Then I guessed you must have been trying to investigate and catch the traitor⁠—and I had gone and interfered⁠—and even locked you up!”

“It was you, then?”

“Well, father, of course, approved, but I locked the door. And after I had found out the truth, I could have murdered myself! But why did you puzzle us so?”

Her charm and sincerity and animation almost made me tell her there and then, but I had just enough hold of myself to ask instead,

“But this doesn’t explain how you came to find me out this time?”

“Well in a way it does; for I knew then that Roger Merton was your real name and then I remembered where I had heard it before, and I knew you were the same person. When you called as Mr. Hobhouse that first day I hadn’t the least suspicion to begin with, and then suddenly you began to look familiar⁠—”

“With this beard!”

“Well, your face isn’t all hidden by your beard and I thought I recognised the other bits. If I hadn’t known you were an actor⁠—”

“A pretty bad one, it appears,” I interposed.

“Oh, no, indeed, you were simply splendid! You still kept me puzzled and only half certain even after I had met you and Captain Whiteclett walking together and noticed you move apart when you saw me. In fact I wasn’t sure till that walk along the shore. I arranged that to make quite certain.”

“You arranged it!” I exclaimed. “The deuce you did, Miss Rendall!”

She laughed defiantly.

“I was dying to make sure! So when I saw you coming towards the house, I rushed into my things and went out to meet you. I thought if I could take you the same walk as we had been before, you could hardly help doing something to give yourself away. And at last you did!”

“May I ask what my relapse was?”

“When I got you to the same place as last time and said the same thing, I noticed you jump. And then you did really rather give yourself away when I asked you if you wanted to look at the rocks, and you jumped at the chance. I know nothing about antiquities⁠—not even as much as you do, Mr. Merton⁠—”

“Hit me again!” I laughed.

“Oh, but it was very clever of you to pretend to be so learned!” she hastened to say. “Still, I did know that there are no antiquities below high water mark, so I knew you just wanted to inspect the place where something happened to you before.”

“Where what happened?” I enquired.

“That’s what I want you to tell me! Oh, if you only knew how I’ve died to know what happened that night!”

“How do you know anything happened?”

“I guessed,” she said.

This may not sound convincing on paper, but it did as she said it. I was almost ready, in fact, to swear by Jean Rendall now.

“And so you made sure of Thomas Hobhouse!” I said. “But why then didn’t you unmask him at once?”

“Oh, but it wasn’t my business to! Of course I had guessed what you were doing here⁠—”

“What?”

“Trying to rid our island of traitors of course! I had interfered with you once, but I wasn’t going to do it again. In fact I tried to reassure you by talking of my walk with Mr. Merton.”

“Miss Rendall,” I said, “I am a child at this game. You did reassure me. I have been as clay in your hands. But tell me one thing more. Why on earth did you come out with me on that first walk⁠—armed with that horse pistol?”

“Oh, you saw it then!” she exclaimed.

“I almost smelt the slow match! But why did you do it?”

“Well, you know what I thought you were then, and there was no one else to go with you.”

“Then you actually went out with a spy at night to keep an eye on him⁠—and shoot him if he spied?”

“I should probably have missed!” she laughed.

I was quite ready to swear by Jean Rendall now. Talk of pluck! I never heard of a more fearless performance!

“Please understand, Mr. Merton,” she went on earnestly, “that I should never have dreamt of letting you know that I had recognised you⁠—I haven’t even told father, I assure you!⁠—only when I heard of this dreadful death of Mr. Bolton⁠—”

She paused and glanced at me, half apologetically, half beseechingly, it seemed.

“Well?” I said.

“Well, I realised the danger you were in supposing anybody else guessed. And I thought I’d come and speak to you. I’m afraid I sometimes act on impulse.”

“So do I,” I confessed. “In fact I’m going to act on impulse now. Do you care to hear some bits of the story you don’t know?”

Her eyes absolutely danced.

“Oh, I’d love to! I’ve been longing⁠—dying to know the rest of it! I’ve guessed and guessed, but I haven’t been able to make any sense out of things!”

I remembered my uncle’s injunctions distinctly. I also remembered my cousin’s cautions and my own good resolutions. A woman, of all things, I was to beware of; but I knew I was perfectly safe to throw overboard the whole collection of cautions: and already I had a strong suspicion I should be far from a loser by it. Miss Rendall seemed, in fact, to have distinctly more natural capacity for detective work than I had, judging by her performances so far.

So I plunged straight into the tale of my first landing on Ransay and my adventure with the oilskinned man on the shore, and may I always have as attentive an audience when I tell a story.

“So there is actually a German who dares to live on Ransay!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing a little.

“A man whom I certainly took to be a German⁠—a man who talks German fluently.”

She fell very thoughtful and presently repeated,

“Middle-sized⁠—with a beard⁠—and dark eyes?”

“Yes,” I said confidently; for somehow or other I began to feel singularly sure of these features.

“Of course I know who you suspect,” she said, looking up suddenly. “And you had him removed from the island afterwards.”

“You mean O’Brien? Yes, I did suspect him⁠—though, mind you, I had nothing to go on. Do you know if he talked German?”

“He once told me he did, but I never heard him, and I didn’t believe him.”

“Why not?”

“One couldn’t believe half he said, and I don’t think he intended one to. He was very Irish. But I don’t believe he was the man.”

“Why not?” I asked again.

“Oh, just because I don’t. And what happened next?”

I told her of my night at the Scollays’ and my plan for trapping the spies. My self-respect as a criminal catcher was distinctly soothed to hear her hearty approval of this scheme.

“It was awfully ingenious,” she said decidedly. “I can’t imagine a better plan, and you did it so well that you took us all in completely. I suppose you felt you had to count us among the suspicious characters, but what a pity you hadn’t confided in father or me as it happened! We would have done everything we could to help you. I’d have loved to spread dreadful rumours about you!”

“I’m sure you would,” I said, “but as things turned out, and in the light of what has happened since, I believe you saved my life by arresting me.”

She turned on me and asked breathlessly.

“Did they guess who you really were? Did they try to do anything to you?”

“Merely murder me, as they murdered poor Bolton. The first attempt was made that night on the shore.”

I saw her lips parting as I neared the end of telling her that story, and the instant I finished she cried,

“Of course you thought it was father!”

I did my best to shuffle out, but she was a hopeless person to try to deceive.

“It was quite natural you should,” she said, “but I can tell you something now that throws some light on things. Next morning I heard that a man had been calling for you after dinner and was told that you had gone out with me. And the funny thing was that the maid didn’t know him by sight, or know his voice. He kept his face rather hidden, she said, and talked in a low voice. Of course it simply increased our suspicions of you. But that was how they knew where you were! And that was the man who tried to kill you.”

“And who’d have done it for certain if he had found me at home that night,” I added.

I must frankly confess that this little incident made me feel uncomfortable. The audacity of the steps my enemies took, their remorseless thoroughness, the extraordinary completeness with which they covered their tracks, their appearances from nowhere and disappearances into space, were particularly nasty to contemplate with Bolton’s fate so fresh in my mind.

“They are pretty thorough,” I said.

She seemed to divine the thoughts behind this remark.

“But they haven’t suspected you yet,” she said reassuringly, “and they mustn’t! And now, tell me some more, Mr. Merton.”

So I went on telling her more:⁠—about the man with spectacles, the shooting episode, every single thing in fact I could remember. As we neared the house we walked more and more slowly, but my tale was barely finished when we got there.

“You’ll come in, won’t you?” she said. “I know father is out, so we can go on talking.”

She saw me hesitate and her colour faintly rose.

“You do trust me now, surely!” she said.

“All the way, Miss Rendall. But these devils may be on to my track at any moment, and if they suspect you are in my confidence⁠—”

“What nonsense!” she cried, “if there’s any risk I want to share it. For the credit of our island these people have got to be hunted down, and I’d like them to know I’m hunting them! Besides, there’s rather a nice cake for tea; you must come in.”

And in we went.