The girl had only partially recovered, and was trembling and sobbing. As the inspector appeared in the doorway she uttered a moan as of fear, and really looked as if she was about to faint again.
“Come, come, this won’t do,” he said, cheeringly and encouragingly. “Pull yourself together, missie. Have you got a drop of brandy to give her, Mrs. Cave? It’s what she wants.”
“There’s some in my cupboard upstairs, in case of illness. There, sit down, dearie, while I run and fetch it.”
Little Mrs. Cave hurried away, and the girl eyed her companion shrinkingly, but to her momentary relief he said nothing—merely glanced round the room in a seemingly casual manner. In half a minute her aunt fluttered back, bringing a small flat bottle half filled with brandy.
“Give it her neat, ma’am. There, that’s better; it’s been an upsetting time for you both, eh?”
“That it has!” Mrs. Cave assented vehemently. “I can’t believe it even now, and never shall I forget it. I don’t wonder the child nearly died of fright. And—why, Jessie, dear, why ever hadn’t you eaten your dinner?”
“I was just going to—when you rang—and—and——”
The mumbling words broke off and Jessie hid her face in her hands.
“You didn’t feel to want your dinner then?”
The inspector’s voice was mild but insistent.