“Thank you!” Cecily gave him a cold little smile of farewell as she sprang out.
She hesitated a moment outside the station, then she beckoned to a passing taxi and gave her address at the Hobart Residence. She was taking no further risks, and her hand held the handbag firmly with its precious contents intact until it had been safely locked up in her desk.
Meanwhile another taxi had flashed out of the station and bowled swiftly in the opposite direction to that which she had taken. In it were seated side by side the woman who had been ill in the train, now marvellously recovered, and the smart young doctor, while opposite to them there lounged one of the working men who had been sitting at the other end of the compartment.
Half an hour later, Inspector Furnival, busily writing at his desk in his room at Scotland Yard, looked up sharply as there was a tap at the door.
“Come in!”
The door opened to admit a man who bore a strong resemblance to the young doctor of the train, though in some subtle fashion a curious metamorphosis seemed to have overtaken him. To Cecily he had seemed to be all doctor—now, he looked to even a casual observer all policeman as he saluted his superior.
The inspector glanced at him.
“Any luck, Masterman?”
For answer Masterman held out a piece of paper on which a few words were scrawled.
The inspector drew his brows together over it.