But the young lady was not to be comforted. She had her own reasons for being of a different opinion. That allusion to Westminster Police Station did not sound like a joke to her. When she quitted Craven Street, she directed the cabman to drive her to a certain number in Victoria Street. She was staring as she went at the two typewritten lines which the mysterious boy had brought in the mysterious envelope. 'I will inquire of Miss Bewicke. It will be better to begin there than--at the other place. There will be time enough for that afterwards. If--if she should have locked him up!' The potentiality was too horrible. She could not bear to contemplate it. Yet, willy-nilly, it intruded on her fears. She ascended in the lift to Miss Bewicke's apartments. She knocked with a trembling hand at Miss Bewicke's door. She had to knock a second time before an answer came. Then the door was opened by a tall, thin, saturnine-looking woman, to whom the visitor took a dislike upon the spot. 'Is Miss Bewicke at home?' 'Will you walk in?' It was only when Miss Broad had walked in that she learned that her quest was vain. 'Miss Bewicke is not at home. She went to Brighton this morning.' 'This morning? I thought she was going last night.' 'Who told you that?' There was something in the speaker's voice which brought the blood to Miss Broad's cheeks with a rush. She stammered. 'I--I heard it somewhere.' 'Your information was learned on good authority; very good. Oh, yes, she meant to go last night, but she was prevented.' 'Prevented--by what?' 'I am not at liberty to say. Are you a friend of Miss Bewicke's?' There was something in the woman's manner which Miss Broad suspected of being intentionally offensive. She stared at her with bold, insolent eyes, with, in them, what the young lady felt was the suggestion of an insolent grin. That she knew her, Miss Broad was persuaded; she was sure, too, that she was completely cognisant of the fact that she was not Miss Bewicke's friend. 'I am sorry to say that I am not so fortunate as to be able to number myself among Miss Bewicke's friends. I have not even the pleasure of her acquaintance.' 'That is unfortunate, as you say. About her friends Miss Bewicke is particular.' The suggestion was so gratuitous that Miss Broad was startled. 'Are you a friend of hers?' 'I am her companion; but not for long. You know what it is for one woman to be a companion to another woman. It is not to be her friend. Oh, no. I have been a companion to Miss Bewicke for many years; but soon I go. I have had enough.'