“Faith, it’s as black as dock mud,” Donovan vouchsafed grimly. “Here she is, sergeant, dead to the world.”
Brady stopped and gazed down at the inanimate girl—the fourth who had been found on this same seat, at the same time, and in the same condition, within two weeks.
“Humph!” Brady grunted, rubbing his furrowed brow perplexedly. “Mystery is no name for it.”
“Shall I send in an ambulance call?”
“No. It’s another case for the hospital. There’s nothing in taking her to headquarters and then bringing her back here, as was done in the other three cases.”
“Sure, sergeant, that’s right.”
“Go to that wing door and raise one of the attendants. Tell him what’s up, Jim, and have him bring out a litter. I’ll wait here until you return.”
Donovan hurried away and vanished around a corner of the wing. He returned in about five minutes, accompanied by one of the hospital attendants, bearing a folded litter, which he hastened to open and on which he and the policeman placed the girl.
While they were doing so, Brady discovered a small leather hand bag on the ground near the seat. He picked it up and tossed it on the litter.
“Go ahead,” he commanded, a bit gruffly. “Get a move on. I’ll go with you.”