"Oh, yes," the young man said. "But usually it's poor girls. This is the gentleman who has charge of all that." He turned and pointed to the left. Beyond a board where keys were hanging, under two crossed swords, the electric light shone clear on the picture of a man in an officer's uniform. A man wearing a sword and a cocked hat with plume--the sort of dress Lord Helmstone wore when he went to the King's Levee. "When is he here?" Mrs. Harborough asked. "Oh, he never comes here. He's at Scotland Yard." "Scotland!" I cried. They told me Scotland Yard was in London. Then we'll go to Scotland Yard! He wouldn't be at Scotland Yard now. "He _might_ be there in the morning" ... this man, in charge of all such cases! The young inspector spoke his superior's name with awe. Oh, a person very great and powerful, and his hand was on his sword. I put my empty hands over my face and wept aloud. Betty--Betty--who will help us? * * * * * I did not need their foolish words to realise, at last, that I should have as much help (_now_, when help was any good)--as much help from the sword in the picture as from this man with three stripes on his sleeve and the blunt lead-pencil in his hand. Who was there in all the world who really cared? A vision of my mother rose to stab at me. No other friend? Eric!--as far away as heaven. The inspector and the man in leather were lifting me into a cab. The electric light was fierce in their faces. Then the light and they were gone. We were driving in silence through streets of shadow sharply streaked with light. I crouched in the corner, and fought the flames that shrivelled up my flesh. Torment! Torment! Betty with a hundred faces. And every one a separate agony. Betty beginning to understand. Betty looking for her sister--calling out for me. No sister! No friend! Only the fiends of hell! Torment! Torment! I was crying fiercely again, and beating with clenched fists. I heard a crash. The cab was stopped, and strange faces crowded. I was being held. "She has lost her mind," one said. But no, it wasn't lost! It was serving me with devilish clearness. More pictures, and still more. Well, well--Betty would die soon! Like cool water--holy water--came the thought of death. Perhaps she was already dead. Oh, my God, make it true! Let her be dead! Here was healing at last. Betty was dead! CHAPTER XXXII DARKNESS But when the morning came I could not be sure that Betty was dead. They brought me a telegram. In wrenching the envelope off I tore the message twice. My fingers could hardly piece the signature together. I realised, at last, the Duncombe housemaid's name. My mother was sinking, she said; and we were expected back by the night train.