She entered the house. Her uncle and the American had already strolled towards the gate.
Trent looked into the eyes of his companion. 'That is a wonderful woman,' he said in a lowered voice.
'You say so without knowing her,' replied Marlowe in a similar tone. 'She is more than that.'
Trent said nothing to this. He stared out over the fields towards the sea. In the silence a noise of hobnailed haste rose on the still air. A little distance down the road a boy appeared trotting towards them from the direction of the hotel. In his hand was the orange envelope, unmistakable afar off, of a telegram. Trent watched him with an indifferent eye as he met and passed the two others. Then he turned to Marlowe. 'A propos of nothing in particular,' he said, 'were you at Oxford?'
'Yes,' said the young man. 'Why do you ask?'
'I just wondered if I was right in my guess. It's one of the things you can very often tell about a man, isn't it?'
'I suppose so,' Marlowe said. 'Well, each of us is marked in one way or another, perhaps.
