“It may be. It is certainly the address of the lady who took charge of her on the train, and now that I’ve got it, I’ll soon find where Kitty is.”
“How did ye get it?”
“Never mind. But it might be worth your while to send a wire, first thing in the morning to Kitty, at this address. Just say: ‘Serious for you if not home within twenty-four hours’ . . . How’s that?”
Corrie groaned. “She wouldna come. . . . Maybe she’s seen the letter by this time.”
“Maybe she hasn’t. It’s a chance anyway—your only chance, perhaps. Will you wire—put it stronger if you like—in the morning?”
“I—I tell ye, she wouldna come.”
Symington got to his feet. “I believe,” he said slowly, “it was a filthy lie about the post office money.”
Corrie shrank in his chair. He was at the end of his endurance. “I did it,” he stammered “to help you.”
“Did what?”
“P—put the five-pun’ note in her drawer.”