“Did you know the girl?”
“No, Miss Duke did not tell me who she was.”
“You might describe her.”
“I really could not, except that she was tall and wearing the blue waterproof and carrying an umbrella. You see, it was dark, and I only got a glimpse of her by the street lamps. She was swinging along quickly towards Oxford Street.”
“What did you do after Miss Duke drove off?”
“I went home, as I have already told you.”
And that was all Inspector French could get out of him. In spite of all his questions, the young man stuck absolutely to his story.
It was obvious to French that he must next get Miss Duke’s statement, and with this in view he drove out to The Cedars. He asked Harrington to accompany him, so as to prevent his telephoning to the young lady to put her on her guard, and on reaching the house he bade him good-day with a somewhat sardonic smile.
Miss Duke was at home, and presently joined him in the breakfast-room to which he had been shown.
She was a comely maiden, slightly given to plumpness, perhaps, but pretty and kindly and wholesome looking, a sight indeed to warm a man’s heart. But she looked pale and worried, and French felt that her experience, whatever it was, had hit her hard.