“Yes, sir, I think so.”
“Good girl! What’s your name? Margery Davies—at number six? That’s right.”
With a kindly nod, leaving Margie and her mother to be surrounded and questioned by the excited crowd that had followed them and listened to the brief colloquy—he entered the garden, just in time to encounter Jessie Jackson, who stumbled against him, and would have fallen if he had not shot out a ready arm to support her.
“Hallo! Who’s this young woman, and what’s the matter with her?” he demanded, lowering her to the ground, gently enough, and scrutinizing her face—a pretty, innocent-looking young face, deadly pale at this moment, for the girl had fainted.
“It’s Jessie, my niece, that found the poor thing, as I told you. It’s upset her—no wonder. Why, Jessie, dear,” cried Mrs. Cave, incoherently, kneeling beside her and frantically chafing her limp hands.
“I must see her presently, when you’ve got her round,” said the inspector, and returned to the house.
CHAPTER III THE TAXICAB
A curious hush brooded over the shop, closed by order of the inspector. Even the post office business must be suspended for the present.