"No," she said again. "I know nobody like that. But now—do you wish me to go with you—to him?"
"It's not necessary—I wouldn't to-night, if I were you," replied Matherfield. "I'll call again in the morning. Meanwhile, leave matters to us and the doctors. You've friends in London, I suppose?"
"Yes, we have friends—relations, in fact," said the girl. "I must let them know at once."
Matherfield nodded and turned to the door. But Hetherwick lingered. He and the girl were looking at each other. He suddenly spoke.
"I saw you this afternoon," he said, "in Fountain Court, with a man whom I know slightly, Mr. Kenthwaite. Is he, by any chance, one of the relations you mentioned just now? Because, if so, he lives close by me. I can tell him, if you wish."
"No," she answered, "not a relative. We know him. You might tell him, if you please, and if it's no trouble."
"No trouble at all," said Hetherwick. "And—if I may—I hope you'll let me call in the morning to hear if there's anything I can do for you?"
The girl gave him a quick, responsive glance.
"That's very kind of you," she said. "Yes."
Hetherwick and the police inspector left the little hotel and walked up the street. Matherfield seemed to be in a brown study. Somewhere up in the Strand and farther away down Fleet Street the clocks began striking.