“What happened to him?”
“According to Parry, the fellow who was here the other day, he married the girl and the thing proved a ghastly failure. Parry said he believed he was dead. Gregg would know, though; they were very thick with each other.”
“You don’t remember the names of the two girls? They may have been friends of the person I’m after.”
Henderson shook his head.
“I haven’t the remotest idea. They were pretty girls, I remember. The sort that take up nursing to get away from home and have a bit of fun.”
Mrs. Henderson, who had been busy over the coffeepot, looked up suddenly.
“If you’re wanting information about any of the nurses at St. Swithin’s, why not go to Ella Benson?” she suggested.
Her husband brought his hand down on the arm of his chair with a whack which made the dust fly.
“By Jove, she’s right! Mrs. Benson’s a friend of my wife’s and lives a few doors up this street. She was a nurse at St. Swithin’s and she’s up in all the gossip of her day. She’s probably at home now.”
“I’ll stroll along and see when I’ve finished this,” said his wife. “She often drops in after lunch. Her husband’s a surgeon and we see a good deal of them, one way and another. She’s a decent little body.”