It must have been half an hour before reason came back. A strange man was there, lean and grey. A friend, I heard—a Healer.  
All those old, old faces!
 
What had they done?
 
What could they do?—except telephone again to the police the vague and non-committal fact of a girl decoyed and lost to sight in the labyrinth¹ of London.
 
They dared to think they could get me to bed. They found me, not a girl—more a wild animal!
 
Out, out I must go.
 
The outward struggle was matched by the one in my mind. Where should I go? To whom? There must be somebody who would care. Somebody who had Power to give effect to caring. Wildly my ignorance cast about. Who had Power?
 
The King—yes; and surely the Queen would "care." But who was I to reach the Queen? Her sentinels and servants would thrust me out.[Pg 311] All my crying would never reach the Queen. Then, the only thing that was left was for me to go out and cry the horror in the street.
 
They held the door while they told me there had been telephoning back and forth². And someone had already gone to Alton Street.
 
"Is that where Betty is?"
 
No. Alton Street was the nearest police-station. The person who had been sent there had not yet come back.
 
Then I, too, must go to Alton Street to learn what they were doing.
 
The power of the police still loomed³ immense. At Alton Street I would hear they had already found Betty. She might even be there at this moment....
 
My aunt, the Healer and I driving through deserted⁴ streets. How long was it since I had been away from Bettina?
 
"Oh, not long," they said. And the police beyond a doubt had turned the time to good account.
 
I had a vision of the Betty I should find at[Pg 312] Alton Street. Fainting, ministered to by men, reverent⁶ of her youth and terror....
 
A grimy room with a counter running down its length. No sign of Betty; only men in uniform grouped in twos and threes behind the counter.
 
They listened. Yes, my aunt's messenger "had been in." They shook their heads.
 
The Healer did most of the talking.
 
A man with a sallow face put a question now and then. He was the inspector⁷.
 
Although there were only policemen there besides ourselves, the inspector talked quite low, as though he was afraid someone might come to know a girl was lost.
 
"I can't hear what you are saying!" I said. "She is my sister. You must tell me what you are doing to find her."
 
They had so little to go upon. "The only clue, and that a very slight one," was the cabman. Could I remember what he was like?
 
The strangeness of the question! Taxi-drivers were as much alike to country eyes as the cabs they drove—— But why ask me? "Bring the man in, and let the inspector see him."[Pg 313]
 
Then they told me. The man who was waiting there outside was not the one who had taken me to Lowndes Square.
 
But where was our "slight and only clue"?
 
They said that while they all were busied over me, unconscious, the butler had paid the cabman and let him go. He had never thought to take the number. The slight, the only clue, was lost.
 
But no. The inspector said they would circulate an inquiry⁸ for a cabman who had brought a young lady of my description to Lowndes Square that night.
 
I tried to learn how long this would take—what we could do meanwhile. What had been already done.
 
They seemed to be saying things which had no meaning. Except one thing. The great difficulty was that I could not describe the outside of the house, nor even the general locality. Which way had we driven from Victoria?
 
I had no idea.
 
But surely I had looked about. What had I noticed as we drove away from the station?[Pg 314]
 
I do not know whether at another time I might have answered better, but I could remember only a confused crowd of passengers, porters, taxi-cabs, and motors. Yes, and the woman who had looked after us while she asked her way of a policeman.
 
Why had she looked after us?
 
I could no more tell them that than I could tell why both she and the policeman had followed us with such unfriendly eyes.
 
"Ah!"—the inspector exchanged glances with the Healer—"a possible clue there."
 
I could not imagine what he meant. I could not believe that he meant anything when I saw the expressionless yellow face turned to Mrs. Harborough to say that "in any case" the Victoria policeman would not be on duty now. The inspector talked about what they would do to-morrow.
 
"To-night—to-night; what can we do to-night?"
 
He brought a piece of yellow paper. He put the questions over again, and this time he wrote the answers down with a stump⁹ of worn lead-pencil. The glazed¹⁰ paper was like the man, it[Pg 315] took impressions grudgingly¹¹; it held them very faint.
 
While the blunt lead-pencil laboured across the sheet, something that other man had said to me in the house of horror flashed back across my mind. I had not believed him at the time, still less now, in the presence of the guardians¹² of the City—all these grave and decent people.
 
Shamefaced I asked Mrs. Harborough if the inspector knew of "any house where a woman takes young girls."
 
She and all the rest were one as silent as the other, till I steadied my voice to say again, this time to the man himself: "You have no knowledge, then, of 'such a place'?"
 
"I don't say that," he answered.
 
I looked at him bewildered. "You mean you do know of a house—a house where——"
 
He hesitated too. "We know some," he said.
 
"You don't mean there are many?"
 
Again the hesitation¹³. "Not many of the sort you desc............