‘Mr. Logan knows nothing?’
‘Absolutely nothing. I alone, and now you, know anything.’
The girl walked up and down in agony.
‘Nobody will ever know if I do not tell you how to find him,’ she said.
‘Unhappily that is not the case. I only ask you, so that it may not be necessary to take other steps, tardy, but certain, and highly undesirable.’
‘You will not go to him armed?’
‘I give you my word of honour,’ said Merton. ‘I have risked myself unarmed already.’
The girl paused with fixed eyes that saw nothing. Merton watched her. Then she took her resolve.
‘I do not know where he is living. I know that on Wednesdays, that is, the day after to-morrow, he is to be found at Dr. Fogarty’s, a private asylum, a house with a garden, in Water Lane, Hammersmith.’
It was the lane in which stood the Home for Destitute and Decayed Cats, whither Logan had once abducted Rangoon, the Siamese puss.