She could not keep up the farce of a polite conversation.
There was a moment's silence, and then Tarling spoke.
"I wanted to find you," he said, speaking slowly, and again he read her fear.
"Well," she hesitated, and then said desperately and just a little defiantly, "you have found me!" Tarling nodded.
"And now that you have found me," she went on, speaking rapidly, "what do you want ?" She was resting on her elbow, her strained face turned towards him, her eyes slightly narrowed, watching him with an intensity of gaze which betrayed her agitation.
"I want to ask you a few questions," said Tarling, and slipped a little notebook from his pocket, balancing it upon his knee.
To his dismay the girl shook her head.
"I don't know that I am prepared to answer your questions," she said more calmly, "but there is no reason why you should not ask them." Here was an attitude wholly unexpected.

And Odette Rider panic-stricken he could understand.

If she had burst into a fit of weeping, if she had grown incoherent in her terror, if she had been indignant or shame-faced--any of these displays would have fitted in with his conception of her innocence or apprehension of her guilt.
"In the first place," he asked bluntly, "why are you here under the name of Miss Stevens ?" She thought a moment, then shook her head.
"That is a question I am not prepared to answer," she said quietly.
"I won't press it for a moment," said Tarling, "because I realise that it is bound up in certain other extraordinary actions of yours, Miss Rider." The girl flushed and dropped her eyes, and Tarling went on: "Why did you leave London secretly, without giving your friends or your mother any inkling of your plans ?" She looked up sharply.
"Have you seen mother ?" she asked quietly, and again her eyes were troubled.
"I've seen your mother," said Tarling.

"I have also seen the telegram you sent to her.

Come, Miss Rider, won't you let me help you?
Believe me, a great deal more depends upon your answers than the satisfaction of my curiosity.