The official frowned.
“Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. “I do not wish to make impertinent inquiries into your private life. Nothing is of any concern of ours except the discovery of the man’s identity. He was picked up from amongst the wreckage of a broken motor on the road to Versailles last night, and we have information that a lady was with him only a few minutes before the accident occurred.”
“You are very unbelieving,” Anna said coldly. “I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life.”
The official shrugged his shoulders.
“You decline to help us in any way, then,” he said. “Remember that the man will probably die. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper.”
“I do not wish to seem unfeeling,” Anna said, slowly, “but I can only repeat that I am absolutely without concern in the matter. The man is a stranger to me.”
The official had no more to say. Only it was with a further and most unbelieving shrug of the shoulders that he resumed his seat.
“You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly.
“You have them both,” Anna answered.
He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile.