The potentiality was too horrible. She could not bear to contemplate it. Yet, willy-nilly, it intruded on her fears.
She ascended in the lift to Miss Bewicke's apartments. She knocked with a trembling hand at Miss Bewicke's door. She had to knock a second time before an answer came. Then the door was opened by a tall, thin, saturnine-looking woman, to whom the visitor took a dislike upon the spot.
'Is Miss Bewicke at home?'
'Will you walk in?' It was only when Miss Broad had walked in that she learned that her quest was vain. 'Miss Bewicke is not at home. She went to Brighton this morning.'
'This morning? I thought she was going last night.'
'Who told you that?'
There was something in the speaker's voice which brought the blood to Miss Broad's cheeks with a rush. She stammered.
'I--I heard it somewhere.'
'Your information was learned on good authority; very good. Oh, yes, she meant to go last night, but she was prevented.'
'Prevented--by what?'