"Measure me, if you doubt it." She challenged him.
"Oh, well, I am sure it is all right. 'Weight—9 stone, 4 lbs.'" He paused again, but this time made no comment, although Crichton felt sure that his companion weighed at least ten pounds less than the amount mentioned. "Hair—black. Complexion—fair. Eyes—blue. Nose—straight. Mouth—small. Oval chin. Distinguishing marks—none. All right, m'm! Sorry to 'ave disturbed you, but you understand we 'ave got to be very careful. We'd never 'ear the last of it if we let the party we're after slip through our fingers."
"What is the woman you are looking for accused of?" asked Crichton.
"Murder," replied the inspector, as he closed the door.
CHAPTER II
"MRS. PETER THOMPKINS"
"Murder!"
Crichton looked at the girl. Her eyes were closed and she lay back breathing heavily. He did not know if she had even heard the accusation. Luckily the train was already moving. In a few minutes, however, they would be in London and then what should he do with her? Now that he had declared her to be his wife, it would arouse the suspicion of the police if he parted from her at the station. Besides, he could not desert the poor child in her terrible predicament. For she was innocent, he was sure of that. But here he was wasting precious time worrying about the future, when he ought to be doing something to revive her. It was simply imperative that she should be able to leave the train without exciting remark, as, once outside the station, the immediate danger would be over. His ministrations, however, were quite ineffectual, and, to his dismay, the train came to a standstill before she showed a sign of returning consciousness.
A porter opened the door.