“The young lady is up, sir, and wishes to see you, if it would be quite convenient.”
Her words, her tone, her manner, told me that the housekeeper had not yet heard of what had happened to the occupant of No. 64. Atkins had explained that he had experienced some difficulty in finding a constable, and, apparently, had said nothing of his errand to any one upon the way. The story of Edwin Lawrence’s ending had not yet been told. I was not disposed to be the first to inform Mrs. Peddar.
“How is the young lady?” I asked.
“Well, sir, she seems all right, bodily, if I may say so, and she certainly has slept sound, and looks better than ever; but that there’s something the matter with her mind, I feel sure.”
“Have you found out her name, or anything about her?”
“No, sir, not a word. I looked at her linen when she was in bed, and it’s marked ‘E.M.’”
“‘E.M.’?”
“Yes, sir, ‘E.M.’ And there’s a purse in her pocket with eighteen shillings; but that’s all—no cards or anything. I was wondering if you wouldn’t like Dr. Hume to see her. He’s a clever gentleman, and might find out what’s wrong with her; because, as I’ve said, that there’s something wrong I’m sure.”
I turned my back, being unwilling to let the woman see how strongly her reference to Hume had moved me. The idea that that man should have an opportunity to play any of the pranks, which he pretended were experiments, made in the interests of science, upon that helpless girl, made my blood boil.
“I don’t think we will trouble Dr. Hume just yet, Mrs. Peddar.”