Blunt nodded his head.

“Had you seen her since you’d been down this time?”

“Went with Ackroyd to call. Last Tuesday, think it was. Fascinating woman⁠—but something queer about her. Deep⁠—one would never know what she was up to.”

I looked into his steady grey eyes. Nothing there surely. I went on:

“I suppose you’d met her before?”

“Last time I was here⁠—she and her husband had just come here to live.” He paused a minute and then added: “Rum thing, she had changed a lot between then and now.”

“How⁠—changed?” I asked.

“Looked ten years older.”

“Were you down here when her husband died?” I asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible.