"Miss Stevens is ready," she said, and Tarling rose.

Dr. Saunders rose with him, and, going to a shelf took down a large
ledger, and placing it on his table, opened it and took up a pen.

"I shall have to mark her discharge," he said, turning over the leaves,
and running his finger down the page. "Here she is--Miss Stevens,
concussion and shock."

He looked at the writing under his hand and then lifted his eyes to the
detective.

"When was this murder committed?" he asked.

"On the night of the fourteenth."

"On the night of the fourteenth?" repeated the doctor thoughtfully. "At
what time?"

"The hour is uncertain," said Tarling, impatient and anxious to finish
his conversation with this gossiping surgeon; "some time after eleven."

"Some time after eleven," repeated the doctor. "It couldn't have been
committed before. When was the man last seen alive?"

"At half-past nine," said Tarling with a little smile. "You're not going
in for criminal investigation, are you, doctor?"

"Not exactly," smiled Saunders. "Though I am naturally pleased to be in a
position to prove the girl's innocence."

"Prove her innocence? What do you mean?" demanded Tarling quickly.

"The murder could not have been committed before eleven o'clock. The dead
man was last seen alive at half-past nine."

"Well?" said Tarling.

"Well," repeated Dr. Saunders, "at nine o'clock the boat train left
Charing Cross, and at half-past ten Miss Rider was admitted to this
hospital suffering from shock and concussion."

For a moment Tarling said nothing and did nothing. He stood as though
turned to stone, staring at the doctor with open mouth. Then he lurched
forward, gripped the astonished medical man by the hand, and wrung it.

"That's the best bit of news I have had in my life," he said huskily.

CHAPTER XIII

TWO SHOTS IN THE NIGHT

The journey back to London was one the details of which were registered
with photographic realism in Tarling's mind for the rest of his life. The
girl spoke little, and he himself was content to meditate and turn over
in his mind the puzzling circumstances which had surrounded Odette
Rider's flight.

In the very silences which occurred between the interchanges of
conversation was a comradeship and a sympathetic understanding which both
the man and the girl would have found it difficult to define. Was he in
love with her? He was shocked at the possibility of such a catastrophe
overtaking him. Love