Mr. Wordley replied in the negative. "Think she has gone to a
situation?"

"No," replied Mr. Wordley; "she left suddenly; and I do not know what
situation she could find. She is a lady, and unaccustomed to earning
her bread in any way."

"Then she has met with an accident," said the inspector, with an air of
conviction.

"God bless my soul, my good man!" exclaimed Mr. Wordley. "What makes
you think that?"

"Experience, sir," replied the inspector, calmly. "Have you any idea
how many accidents there are in a day in London? I suppose not. You'd
be surprised if I told you. What was the date she was missing?"

Mr. Wordley told him, and he turned to a large red book like a ledger.

"As I thought, sir," he said. "'Young lady knocked down by a light van
in Goode Street, Minories. Dark hair, light eyes. Height, five feet
nine. Age, about twenty-one or two. Name on clothing, "Ida Heron."'"

Mr. Wordley sprang to his feet.

"It is she!" he exclaimed. "Was she much hurt, is--is she alive--where
is she? I must go to her at once."

"London Hospital," replied the inspector, succinctly, as he turned to a
subordinate. "Call a cab!"

It was not a particularly slow hansom, and it did not take very long to
get from the police station to the hospital; but to Mr. Wordley the
horse seemed to crawl and the minutes to grow into days. He leapt out
of the hansom, and actually ran into the hall.

"You've a patient--Ida Heron"--he panted to the hall porter.

The man turned to his book.

"Yes, sir," he said. "Discharged yesterday."

Mr. Wordley staggered against the glass partition of the porter's box
and groaned.

"Can you tell me--?" he began. "Has she left any address? I--I am her
solicitor. Excuse my being hurried: I want her particularly."

The porter looked at him sympathetically--everybody is sympathetic at a
hospital, from the head physician and that puissant lady, the matron,
down to the boy who cleans the brass plate.

"Won't, you sit down, sir," he said, "The young lady was discharged
yesterday, and I can't tell you where she's gone, in fact, though I
remember her being brought in--run-over case--I like to step upstairs
and see the sister of the ward she was in, the Alexandra?"

While he was speaking, and Mr. Wordley was trying to recover command of
himself, a slim black-clad figure came down the hall, and pausing
before the large tin box provided for contributions, dropped something
into it. Mr. Wordley watche