The inspector was a little nonplussed. He did not for a moment believe that the girl was telling the truth.
“Perhaps,” he said tentatively, “you do not care to have your name come before the public in connection with a case so notorious as this?”
“Naturally,” the girl answered. “That, however, would not prevent my telling you anything that I knew. You seem to find it hard to believe, but I can assure you that I know nothing. Mr. Fynes was almost a stranger to me.”
The detective was thoughtful.
“So you really cannot help us at all, madam?” he said at length.
“I am afraid not,” she answered.
“Perhaps,” he suggested, “after you have thought the matter over, something may occur to you. Can I trouble you for your address?”
“I am staying at Devenham House for the moment,” she answered.
He wrote it down in his notebook.
“I shall perhaps do myself the honor of waiting upon you a little later on,” he said. “You may be able, after reflection, to recall some small details, at any rate, which will be interesting to us. At present we are absurdly ignorant as to the man’s affairs.”