I think she had counted on my not remembering, or not connecting her hints with the thing she had found in the street, and that she had wanted to tantalise me.
"I won't say whether I mean the brocade bag or not, and whether, if I do, that I believe Ivor dropped it, or whether there was another man mixed up in the case--perhaps the real murderer.

If I _do_ decide to tell what I know and what I suspect, it won't be to you--unless for a very particular reason--and it won't be yet awhile." I'm afraid that I almost hated her for a moment, she seemed so cold, so calculating and sly.

I couldn't bear to think that she was my step-sister, and I was glad that, at least, not a drop of the same blood ran in our veins.
"If you choose to keep silent for some purpose of your own," I broke out, "you can't prevent me from telling the whole story, as _I_ know it--how I went out with you, and all that." "I can't prevent you from doing it, but I can advise you not to--for Ivor's sake," she answered.
"For his sake ?" "Yes, and for your own, too, if you care for his opinion of you at all.
For his sake, because _neither_ of us knows when he came out of Maxine de Renzie's house.

You _would_ go away, though I wanted to stay and watch.

He may not have been there more than five minutes for all we can tell to the contrary, in which case he would still have had time to go straight off to the Rue de la Fille Sauvage and kill that man, in accordance with the doctors' statements about the death.