"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.