"None that I ever heard of," was the answer. "My father and mother were living in a little village in Cornwall, and one day they were caught in a storm out sailing, and they were both drowned. No one seemed to know anything about them at all. A lawyer at Helston, a very kind man called Mr. Penwarren, advertised in the papers and made inquiries everywhere. They all led to nothing, however, and it ended with my going to live with an old farmer and his wife who had offered to take care of me. There was a little money--something like nine hundred pounds--which Mr. Penwarren had invested for me, and that gave me the chance of coming to London and setting up as a typist." She stopped short, and glanced at Colin with a sudden trace of embarrassment. "I don't know why I am telling you all this," she added. "I'm afraid I must be boring you horribly." Colin shook his head. "I never felt more interested in my life. I thought that things like that only happened in books and plays." "I wish they did," said Nancy. "I simply hate not knowing who I am. It makes one feel like a lost dog." "But how about our genial friend in the car?" inquired Colin. "If he was a pal of your father's he must surely have been able to give you some information." "That's just what he can't do," said Nancy. "He met my father years ago down at Forth Leven, where they used to go out fishing together. He went abroad with his regiment after that, and it was only when he came home this spring and happened to be in the same neighbourhood that he found out about the accident. He took the trouble to go over to Helston and see the lawyer, Mr. Penwarren, who gave him my address. I can't imagine why he should have bothered about me at all, but for some extraordinary reason he seems to have thought it was his duty. Anyhow, he has certainly gone out of his way to try and be kind to me, and although I don't like him I naturally feel a certain amount of gratitude. He must be rather a nice man really or he wouldn't have behaved as he has." "I daresay you're right," said Colin doubtfully. "I have been told that the most objectionable people often have hearts of gold." He piloted her round the corner of Church Street and led the way into a small garage, where a miscellaneous collection of cars were ranged along the walls. "This is mine," he remarked, coming to a halt in front of a rather battered four-seater. "She's not a beauty to look at, but she can go like the devil." Before Nancy could offer any comment a young man in dirty overalls wriggled out from beneath a neighbouring limousine. Colin greeted him with a friendly nod. "I am going to take her out after all, Davis," he said. "I shall be back some time this evening, and if you're here we can run over her together."