"Perhaps she was registered under another name," I suggested.
"Yes, that's very likely," Godfrey admitted. "May I see the record, doctor? Perhaps I'll be able to pick her out. Cases that stay here that length of time aren't very common, are they?"
"No; they're rather exceptional; besides, twenty years ago, we hadn't so many as we have to-day."
Godfrey was examining the index.
"If there's no other way, we can sift out the cases which answer in a general way to the one we want, and investigate all of them. But I hope that won't be necessary. Let me see—F—G—H——"
"There was an inquiry the other day about a case which was a good deal like yours—only that was for an Italian woman—a Harriet Parello."
Godfrey's lips were twitching and his finger trembled a little as he ran it down the column of names, but when he spoke, his tone was the most casual.
"Yes," he said, "here she is—Harriet Parello. She was brought here from West Twenty-seventh Street," and he named the number. "Not a very savoury locality, is it, doctor?"
"No; though one can't tell what it was twenty years ago."
"That's true. I don't suppose you remember anything about her?"