“She is at St. Mark’s Workhouse, but you had better leave her alone.”
“Would you mind,” said Prudence pleadingly, “writing down the name and the name of the street where it is situated? I must go there at once.”
“Oh, you can remember well enough,” said the Inspector rather gruffly. “St. Mark’s Workhouse, Bush Street.”
With this Prudence had to be content.
CHAPTER XVI.
MRS. DUMARESQ IN AN UNDIPLOMATIC CIRCLE.
When Prudence found herself in the street, she looked in a bewildered fashion from right to left, not knowing which way to turn. The good-natured young constable pointed out the direction of the workhouse, telling her it was quite near, and thither she bent her steps. Knowing nothing of the intricacies of the neighbourhood, she walked some considerable way before realising that she was lost, and that her best plan was to take a cab. Cabs, however, were few about there, and she discovered one with difficulty. As she drove towards the workhouse she had leisure to reflect on the bewildering incidents of the morning, and speculate on the condition of mind and body in which she would probably find Augusta.
“The poor dear,” she thought, “what she must have gone through! Oh! what a misfortune to have come across that terrible woman. And she looked so nice, so clean, so respectable. Thank Heaven, Augusta was not with her very long.” She went over in her mind her conversation with the Inspector.
“What a disagreeable man! He seemed quite to doubt my word that Augusta was my sister. Perhaps I had better say in future that she is my half-sister. She does look ridiculously young.”
Suddenly poor Prudence bounded from her seat. She had but just remembered something the Inspector had said—something scarcely noticed at the time amidst so many conflicting anxieties and emotions.
“We are trying to trace their parents, as several names and addresses were found in the possession of Brown, and you would probably in any case have been subpœnæd to give evidence at the trial.”