"If I hear from him—as I expect to—how can I communicate with you?" I asked.
For a few seconds she stood wondering.
"Write to me to Park Mansions," she replied. "My letters are always forwarded."
And raising her umbrella she herself hailed a passing taxi.
"Remember my warning," were her final words as she gave the man an address in Regent's Park, and entered the conveyance. "Go and see Phrida Shand at once and tell her what I have said."
"May I mention your name?" I asked hoarsely.
"Yes," she replied. "Good-night."
And a moment later I was gazing at the red back-lamp of the taxi, while soon afterwards I again caught a glimpse of the same lonely seller of shawls whom I had seen at the Tube station, trudging wearily homeward, there being no business doing at that hour of the evening.