With that Private Flinders was obliged to rest content. He made inquiries from day to day, and eventually this advertisement appeared in the leading daily papers:-- TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.--A little girl, apparently about three years old, is in charge of the police at Bridbrook. She says her name is Susy, and appears to be the child of well-to-do parents. Very fair hair, blue eyes, features small and pretty. Clothes very good, but much soiled.--Address, POLICE STATION, BRIDBROOK. A few hours after the appearance of the advertisement, a telegram arrived at the police-station:-- "Keep child. Will come as soon as possible.--JACKSON." * * * * * Less than three hours afterwards, an excited woman rushed into the station, having precipitated herself out of a cab, and almost flung herself upon the astonished inspector. "I’ve come for the child--the little girl," she gasped, as if she had run at racing speed direct from the place indicated by the telegram. "Oh, she belongs to you, does she?" remarked the inspector coolly. "Well, you’ve no call to be in such a ’urry; you’ve been very comfortable about her for the last six weeks." "Comfortable!" echoed the excited one; "why, I’ve been very near out of my mind. I thought she was drowned, and I was so frightened, I daren’t say a word to any one about it. And my lady away----" "Then you’re not the mother?" said the inspector sharply. "The mother!--my goodness, no! I’m the head nurse. My young lady’s mother is the Countess of Morecambe." "Then what does _she_ say to all this, pray?" he asked. "My lady went abroad two months ago to one of those foreign cure places, and she doesn’t know but what Lady Susy is safe with me at this minute," the woman replied. The inspector gave a prolonged whistle. "Well, you’re a pretty sort of nurse to leave in charge of a child," he remarked. "I shouldn’t wonder if you get the sack for this. Do you know the child’s at the workhouse, and that they’ve cropped her head as bare as mine?" At this the woman simply sat down and sobbed aloud. "Aye, you may well cry," said the inspector grimly. "I should if I was in your shoes." She finally told how the child had been missed; how she had refrained from giving notice to the police through fear of publicity, and believing she could find her by diligent search in the locality; how "my lady" was a widow, with only this one little child; how she had been advised to go for this cure; how she had consented to the nurse taking Lady Susy to the seaside meantime, well knowing that she would be safe and happy with her. "Yes, you may laugh at that," she wound up; "but my dear lamb has often called me ’mammy’ as anything else, and my lady has often said she was quite jealous of me." "All the same, I shouldn’t wonder if you get the sack," repeated the inspector, who was not troubled with much sentiment.