Now the Fenchurch Street mystery, as that extraordinary crime had
popularly been called, had puzzled--as Polly well knew--the brains of
every thinking man and woman for the last twelve months. It had puzzled
her not inconsiderably; she had been interested, fascinated; she had
studied the case, formed her own theories, thought about it all often
and often, had even written one or two letters to the Press on the
subject--suggesting, arguing, hinting at possibilities and
probabilities, adducing proofs which other amateur detectives were
equally ready to refute. The attitude of that timid man in the corner,
therefore, was peculiarly exasperating, and she retorted with sarcasm
destined to completely annihilate her self-complacent interlocutor.