"Absolutely," said Tarling, "and it is confirmed by the station master at Ashford, who has the time of the accident logged in his diary, and himself assisted to lift the girl from the train."
"Why did she call herself Miss Stevens?" asked Whiteside. "And what induced her to leave London so hurriedly?"
Tarling gave a despairing gesture.
"That is one of the things I should like to know," he said, "and the very matter upon which Miss Rider refuses to enlighten me. I am taking her to an hotel," he went on. "To-morrow I will bring her down to the Yard. But I doubt if the Chief can say anything that will induce her to talk."
"Was she surprised when you told her of the murder? Did she mention anybody's name?" asked Whiteside.
Tarling hesitated, and then, for one of the few times in his life, he lied.
"No," he said, "she was just upset ... she mentioned nobody."
He took the girl by taxi to the quiet little hotel he had chosen—a journey not without its thrills, for the fog was now thick—and saw her comfortably fixed.
"I can't be sufficiently grateful to you, Mr. Tarling, for your kindness," she said at parting "and if I could make your task any easier ... I would."
He saw a spasm of pain pass across her face.