“And who, may I ask, is J. K.?”
“There’s to be another prison inmate,” Ethel replied rather bitterly, and explained in a few sentences what Mrs. Hanson had done. “And what am I to say to her?” she concluded, “and what will she do when she finds out all this?”
The doctor considered for a few moments. “When was the wire sent off?” he asked at length.
“Ten-thirty from London.”
“Then she had had plenty of time to see the morning papers, if not before she left the hotel at Folkestone, at any rate before she reached London.”
“The papers!” Ethel cried. “Is it in the papers already?”
The doctor pulled a folded sheet out of his pocket. “Not in the Times,” he said, “but the penny papers have lost no time in getting hold of it. Look at this.” He pointed out a paragraph to her. I read it over her shoulder. It was on the front page and was headed:—
Sudden Death of Young Tennis Player
A sad event occurred yesterday in the old cathedral city of Merchester, where the annual lawn tennis tournament is in progress. Miss Stella Palfreeman, a promising young player, died suddenly during the night of the sixteenth. There is reason to suppose that her death was due to an overdose of some narcotic medicine. Miss Palfreeman retired to bed in her usual health at night and was found dead by her hostess in the morning. We understand that the police are inquiring into the matter.
Ethel threw down the paper and shivered, her eyes filling with tears. “And to-morrow it will be shouted and billed all over the place! I shall never be able to hold up my head in Merchester again. Oh, I can’t bear it, I simply can’t bear any more!”
The Tundish took her hand in his and held it while he spoke, his other hand affectionately on her shoulder. “Ethel, you must not—you must not give way like that. It’s ridiculous! Hold up your head, indeed, what have you to be ashamed of? Come now, I know how brave you can be, and we are all going to need all the grit we’ve got in the next few days. Now about Mrs. Kenley, she may be with us any minute.”