“Thank you, Miss Derwent,” exclaimed the Coroner, heartily; “your explanations are perfectly satisfactory. Only you have forgotten to tell us the gentleman’s name.”
“Why need you know his name?” she demanded, passionately, “you will soon find out who this unknown man is. There must be hundreds of people in this city who knew him. Why should I tell you the name of my visitor? I refuse to do so.”
“Miss Derwent is quite right,” interposed the detective, with unexpected decision; “once convinced that the dead man and her friend are not identical, and the latter’s name ceases to be of any importance to us.”
“Quite so, quite so,” the Coroner rather grudgingly assented.
“Can I go now?” she inquired.
“Certainly,” said the Coroner, cordially. “Good-day, Miss.”
I was just going to offer myself as an escort when Mr. Merritt stepped quietly forward, and possessed himself of the young lady’s bag. With a distant bow, that included impartially the Coroner and myself, Miss Derwent left the room.
“Remember Mrs. Atkins,” the detective murmured as he prepared to follow her. I nodded a curt assent. My brain was in a whirl. What was I to believe? This beautiful, queenlike creature seemed incapable of deceit, and yet—who were the two people I had so lately seen in her apartment? Why had no mention been made of them? No matter; I felt my belief in the young girl’s innocence and goodness rise superior to mere facts, and then and there vowed to become her champion should she ever need one, which I very much feared she might. I was vaguely annoyed that the detective should have insisted on escorting her. Had he a motive for this, I wondered, or had he simply succumbed to her fascination, like the rest of us? At any rate, I didn’t like it, and I rang Mrs. Atkins’s bell in considerable ill humour.