Henderson recognized the name at once as that of a man he had known fairly well at St. Swithin’s and was interested to learn what had become of him. “Very able chap, he was, but a bit of a roughneck. He was very raw when he first arrived, I remember, and had to put up with a good deal of chaff. Came from somewhere in the North, I believe, and had got most of his training from an old local doctor who took an interest in the boy. Apart from that he was mostly self-educated. Correspondence schools and that sort of thing. Rather an interesting fellow, in his way.” “Did you see anything of him after he left?” “Lost sight of him entirely. I’ve a sort of idea that I heard a rumour at one time that he had a practise somewhere in London, but I’m rather hazy.” “Do you remember at all who his associates were at the hospital? I’ve an idea that he knew some one I’m interested in and I don’t care to ask him point-blank.” “His great pal was a man named Baxter. They used to go about a good deal with a couple of nurses, one of whom was by way of being engaged to Baxter. I remember that because there was a certain amount of talk about it. The girl had the reputation of being hot stuff and Baxter was supposed to be making rather a fool of himself over her. It’s extraordinary how it all comes back when one starts talking about old times. There was a St. Swithin’s man here the other day and we began gassing and, I give you my word, I felt at the end as if it was yesterday that we were there together. We were talking about Baxter, among other things, so that he’s fairly fresh in my memory.” “What happened to him?” “According to Parry, the fellow who was here the other day, he married the girl and the thing proved a ghastly failure. Parry said he believed he was dead. Gregg would know, though; they were very thick with each other.” “You don’t remember the names of the two girls? They may have been friends of the person I’m after.” Henderson shook his head. “I haven’t the remotest idea. They were pretty girls, I remember. The sort that take up nursing to get away from home and have a bit of fun.” Mrs. Henderson, who had been busy over the coffeepot, looked up suddenly. “If you’re wanting information about any of the nurses at St. Swithin’s, why not go to Ella Benson?” she suggested. Her husband brought his hand down on the arm of his chair with a whack which made the dust fly. “By Jove, she’s right! Mrs. Benson’s a friend of my wife’s and lives a few doors up this street. She was a nurse at St. Swithin’s and she’s up in all the gossip of her day. She’s probably at home now.” “I’ll stroll along and see when I’ve finished this,” said his wife. “She often drops in after lunch. Her husband’s a surgeon and we see a good deal of them, one way and another. She’s a decent little body.” “Since when have you taken an interest in the medical profession?” asked Henderson lazily, his shrewd eyes on his friend. Fayre laughed rather guiltily.